The Abysmal Dating Life of Harry Potter
by Celebony
Summary: Dating's tough when you're Harry Potter. Ron watches his best friend go through some very bad dating experiences, while going through some awkward ones of his own. H/R slash. Please note the rating and warnings inside.
1. The First Date

A/N: Please note this story is slash, with a Harry/Ron pairing. Also, this story is rated M (or R) for sexual content (mostly talking about it. Boys—whatcha gonna do with them?). Ron's a fun, generally light narrator, but there are also heavy situations throughout the story, including a brief non-consensual situation in a later chapter (not between Harry and Ron). So…you are warned!

This story is dedicated to the Harry and Ron Livejournal Community, where I have shamelessly lurked for years.

The Abysmal Dating Life of Harry Potter (as told by Ron Weasley)

The First Date (1/4)

You'd think that after the war people would stop trying to hurt Harry so much.

You'd be wrong.

The first months after were tough enough with fans demanding he autograph anything they shoved under his nose and middle-aged women trying to pull him into a snog or reporters running around after him with dict-a-quills while the poor lad just wanted an ice cream. Or I wanted an ice cream. Whatever. So really, he didn't need the crazies shouting things like "Wipe out dirty blood!" or "Long live the Dark Lord!" and firing curses at him in the streets.

At first, it was just the Voldemort supporters that still needed rounding up, but after that, it was _every_ crazy from _every_ corner of the earth! Apparently, since Harry had taken down one evil dictator, some idea had spread among the less-successful evildoers that it was time to apply for Voldemort's old job. Whoever killed Harry would be the new supreme evil overlord or something. Guess it was supposed to prove they were more capable than the last guy in office. Like a typing test…but evil.

We joked about it to keep Harry smiling, but really, it was hard for me to pretend any bit of it was funny. I told everyone he'd turned hermit because of the masses of women that went into heat when he entered a bar, but it wasn't true. Well, they _did_ do that for a while, but the fangirls backed off pretty damn quickly after someone collapsed a roof of a café onto Harry, nearly killing him and eight others. The cover of _TIME TURNED_—the wizarding world's "current issues" magazine, as I had to explain to Harry—featured this bloody awful picture of Hermione and me clawing through the rubble and uncovering Harry's hand. We recognized it from the faint scars that still read, "I must not tell lies," and Hermione clasped it and cried while I frantically unburied the rest of him. The photo still gets circulated now and again as a symbol for whatever spin the media wants to discuss at the moment and every time it makes mum burst into tears. Hermione can't even look at it. I can deal with it okay…except for the one time nobody will let me forget when I tore up every one of those damn magazines at a newsstand in Diagon Alley, ignoring the cries of the squat bloke who worked there. It wasn't _completely_ my fault. George was there; he should have stopped me instead of pointing out that second batch.

After Harry recovered from that, he was hit with the Cruciatus five times and nicked with other nasty curses thirteen. I got hit with a few myself, as did Hermione, and that's when Harry decided he'd better wait out the storm. The fangirls were fine with that move. They apparently didn't worship Harry enough to step into crossfire for him.

Every time Hermione squeezed lunch with me into her insane schedule, all she talked about was how lonely she thought Harry was. I always argued through mouthfuls of food that he had us, but I mainly did it because arguing with Hermione was my most trustworthy form of stress relief. It was mean, but watching her realize again and again that logic wasn't a weapon that was effective on me, was oddly relaxing. Nostalgia, I suppose.

Because really, I knew she was probably right. Harry couldn't have the casual social life the rest of us took for granted. Like how I went out for a pint almost every day after practice with my teammates from the Chudley Cannons. Harry and I made the team together, but then the threats poured in. Harry quit right away, adamant he wouldn't put a stadium full of people at danger just so he could play. I turned in my broom too, until Harry whirled right back around, grabbed the broom out of the team manager's hands and told me that if I quit because of him, he'd move out. He tried coming out with us once after a practice, but I think hearing our self-congratulating toasts made him feel even more left out. He never came again, anyway.

The Aurors wouldn't take him either despite his overwhelming qualifications. He may have defeated the darkest wizard in half a century, but he was apparently too much of a risk. As the wizard in charge of hiring explained when Harry tried to turn in his application, Harry would be a target, his partners would be targets, the whole ministry would be a target…like it wasn't already. And if he got injured in the line of duty, it would explode across the media, and the department didn't need that sort of press. What utter rot.

George offered him a spot at the shop, doing anything he wanted, but Harry refused. Not only wouldn't he risk putting George in any kind of danger, but he claimed to have no skills to offer and didn't want to accept money for nothing, despite the fact that he'd given Fred and George money for nothing to start the bloody thing in the first place. Harry could really be thick git about things sometimes.

So he couldn't get a job and therefore had no coworkers to spend time with during the day. Our friends, though, _did_ have jobs and went out and dated.

So mostly Harry spent his time in our flat alone, lonely. The rest of the time, he had me.

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"Hey, get me a lager?" Harry called from the living room of our flat. He must've heard me crack open the refrigerator door…or just knew me and knew the odds were good I was rummaging around for a drink or a snack of some sort. I already had a bottle for myself tucked under my arm along with a bag of crisps and the package of sliced cheese.

"Yeah."

"Thanks, wench!"

My face tightened and I shoved the bottle back into the fridge. Harry chuckled in the next room, knowing that had cost him his drink.

I should never have told Harry that story, but dating was one of those things you have to talk about with your best mate or you're not really best mates. So yeah, I stepped up, made the conversation happen. It's the kind of bloke I am. Friendship's important to me and I'll put in my share of the effort even when I know it can't be returned in kind.

Plus, I was too disturbed not to tell _someone_ and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell Hermione.

My first date after Hogwarts. Hermione had moved on pretty quickly, of course, to guys more interested in academics than me. We'd been through the war together in a way no one else could understand, but it only took a couple weeks of her asking me in exasperated tones how it was possible for me to not care about spell theory after all we'd been through and me asking her in exasperated tones how it was possible for her to not care about _Quidditch _after all we'd been through to make us realize that we functioned best with Harry…

Whoa, not like that! Like friends! The three of us. Me and her just didn't work on our own for long. Me and Harry alone, yeah. Harry and her alone, sure. Her and me? Only when we were talking about taking care of Harry. Otherwise I just liked to annoy her. I couldn't help that it was so funny watching her fingers clench as she contemplated strangling me. No one else had the ability to make her lose her mind like I did. It was a gift.

So yeah, my first date in the real world was a Cannons fan who told me I looked sexy in elbow pads. I took her to dinner. Then she invited me to her place. We had some wine on her couch and she rubbed her thumb over my knuckles and asked me how "open" I was.

I figured she meant open to having sex. I was definitely open to that. I got far enough with Lavender to really get my imagination going, but never made it all the way. I wasn't with Hermione very long, but frankly, I never wanted to have sex with her. She was an attractive girl and all, but I always had this terrible fear that halfway through she'd pull out _Sex, a History_ and say, "No, Ron. See, on page 113, it _clearly_ states that the thrusts should start much slower, then increase in pace at the properly spaced intervals. _This_ is why I bought you that study organizer!"

So I said something about being _quite_ open if she were also open, but if she was not open, I could be closed, or slightly ajar. Because I wanted to have sex, but I was a good guy; I could wait if she needed time.

She didn't need time, apparently. She pulled me into the bedroom with this sultry looking up through her eyelashes move and I stumbled after, my heart pounding away happily in my chest.

I was going to have sex.

I tried to yank my shirt off, but it got stuck around my head because I'd dressed all nice in a button up and, like a prat, forgot to unbutton it. What can I say? I was excited. Anyone would have been! Obviously, I was bloody embarrassed by the time I managed to wrestle it off, ready to laugh at myself, but faltered when I found her standing on the bed in her stilettos. Her shirt hung open revealing a red corset and her hand was wrapped around the handle of a huge leather whip. I'd dreamt of many versions of this moment and, well, I'd never categorize myself as wholesome by any means, but this was just out of my poor imagination's league.

"Er…"

She cracked the whip and I jumped back, clutching my shirt to my chest with a white knuckled grip.

"On your knees, wench!"

So I made my excuses about an early practice, real subtle and all so as not to be rude, and tore out of there as fast as my legs could take me. I burst through our floo, Harry took one look at my spooked face, and the moment his eyebrows knitted in question I blurted out the whole story.

Truthfully, I couldn't get too annoyed when Harry got a laugh out of it. I figured it reminded him that dating wasn't just dinner and tender lovemaking for the rest of us, which was exactly what Harry dreamed it was, being Harry. Harry's dating life was bad. Like, worse than unknowingly trying to lose your virginity to a dominatrix bad.

Like me finding him in a pool of his own blood in the loo at a charity ball bad.

He'd met his date in the bookshop and blushed every time me, Seamus, Dean or Neville mentioned the possibility of him finally getting shagged. He liked her, thought she was friendly (not even in the eyebrow waggling way Seamus suggested). They'd grabbed coffee and she hadn't asked what it had been like with Voldemort. Instead, she'd asked him to tell her about films. Harry hadn't actually been to the cinema (effing Dursleys), but he got all excited to take her to one if their night at the ball went well.

And then, at the ball, she followed him into the loo and stabbed him seven times before slitting her own wrists.

I knew where he'd gone because on his way there, he'd clapped his hand on my shoulder and, with a genuinely happy grin, told me it was going great. After a few minutes, I decided to go tease him more about his date. I was a little tipsy off the free alcohol and figured I should go make Harry's face with some off-color jokes. The hall was quiet but grand. I passed a mirror in the hall and caught a glimpse of myself in the nice dress robes I could finally afford to buy being on a Quidditch team and I thought to myself that even though I'd complained about the whole thing, I was really glad Hermione had made us come.

I pushed open the bathroom door, half my champagne sloshing out of my glass, expecting to find Harry washing up, and instead found blood. Dark red slashed across the white porcelain sinks, splattered on the mirrors, and spreading fast over the elegant marble floor. Harry was crumpled on his side at the foot of one of the stalls, his glasses severely crooked, an arm splayed across the floor toward me, completely limp. There was a smear of sticky crimson staining his pale cheek that almost looked like the remnants of a kiss. His date was curled up in the corner, streaks of red dripping down her beautiful purple dress. She seemed so peaceful and still, like a little girl. It was as if she had nestled herself in that corner and fallen asleep.

I didn't know yet what had happened. My mind went straight to the wannabe dark lords, though I didn't even think to put myself on guard. My champagne glass shattered on the floor as I dove toward Harry. I ripped off my jacket, ready to use it to stop the bleeding, but when I turned him onto his back, I found not one wound to worry about but seven. I didn't even know where to put my shaking hands, afraid that I'd press on one and force blood out another. I didn't know the right healing spells though Hermione always suggested we learn them and I wanted to kill myself for not having listened to her with Harry's face so white and his every breath making a gurgling sound I still hear in my worst nightmares. I draped my jacket over his blood-soaked torso and screamed again and again until a couple men stuck their heads in. One went for help, the other ran to the girl. I waited for him to tell me what to do, but he just stared at me with wide eyes and I finally understood he was waiting for my instruction.

When the healers came in carrying bags of equipment and, in clipped tones, asked what had happened, I tried to wave them over to Harry first and choked out that they were attacked. The other man corrected me, saying _she'd_ attacked _him._ I looked over, confused, as he pointed to the knife still resting in her limp hand. I stared, feeling this rising flood of horror fill my body until I couldn't breathe. I thought of how I'd teased Harry about this girl, elbowed him playfully and made lewd comments. I thought about how he'd blushed and called me and the other blokes pervs while he poured over his Muggle newspaper's film listings. And the most paralyzing thought was that I might never be able to tease him again.

That's when I was filled with such murderous rage that my shoulders began to shake, then my hands. I wanted to scream at her and throttle her and demand to know why, _why_ she had done this to the guy who had filled with delight at the thought of buying her popcorn.

But I couldn't do anything to her. She was already dead, as the other man explained to the healers, and she'd tried her best to take Harry with her.

I don't remember exactly what I did to have to be wrestled from the bathroom. I remember starting to scream, then fighting against hands gripping my arms and seeing from a distance the healers descend on Harry, then I was somewhere near this huge vase on a table with a tablecloth and Hermione was in hysterics, shrieking, "Ron! Where's Harry? Ron! What happened to _Harry_?" And I remember not knowing what she was talking about or why she fell to her knees, her head in her hands, sobbing while her date raced over and pulled her into his arms.

To be honest, I'm glad I was in some sort of shock for that time, because otherwise I don't know I would have survived the next five hours of sitting in a stark hospital waiting room with healers telling us the healing wasn't going well and to expect the worst because the healing.

We found out that her family had been supporters of Voldemort and they'd been killed fighting in the final battle. Hermione explained it to Harry when he finally woke up in his private room in St. Mungo's. He was pale and stared out the window as Hermione spoke and I sat stiffly on his other side. He'd liked her.

And people said he was lucky. "Harry Potter's so lucky. He survives _everything_." The way I looked at it, lucky people probably didn't have so much they needed to survive through. They definitely didn't have the one girl they'd worked up the courage to ask out try to murder them on the first date.

I took him to the cinema after that, by the way. Seamus immediately jumped on that one in his usual thoughtless way and, with a jovial smirk, asked if _I_ was Harry's replacement date now. I glared and said I thought Harry deserved to see a film.

Seamus nodded and didn't mention it again. When he saw Harry, he understood why the rest of us were so grim. Harry had stopped smiling since the incident. We were worried that Harry's date might have managed to kill a part of him after all.

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"I'm dying," I wheezed. Harry needed to know this as my caretaker. He needed to feel much sorrier for me than he currently was.

Harry pulled my blinds closed, dampening the bright midday sun. "You're a wuss is what you are."

I made sure my next cough was extra nasty sounding. "You're mean," I muttered. I weakly stretched out an arm toward a glass of water on the nightstand. "My mum's always nice to me when I'm sick."

"Yes, and look what she's turned you into." Harry grabbed my water glass, then put an arm behind my shoulders and helped me sit up to drink it. The water burned my sore throat.

Once my head was settled back on the pillow, I looked to him with achy eyes. "Tell me I'm a brave solider."

Harry laughed and smacked me with the pillow I'd irritably thrown off the bed. I stared. Harry had laughed. For the first time since his date-gone-wrong. I felt the crazy urge to jump up and hug him. He was back. I had my friend back.

"Ow," I said, instead of attacking him with mushy touchy-feely rubbish. Best pretend a moment of monumental importance hadn't just happened. Chuckles tore at my throat, "that actually hurt, you prat. I'm all sore."

"Sorry." He did sound a little sorry as he dropped the pillow, so I gave it to him. He sat down on the edge of my bed. "Hey, Ron?"

"Hey, Harry?" I teased.

"Thanks for putting up with me for the past couple months. I know I haven't been all that pleasant to hang out with."

I shifted up on my pillows with a wince. "You were nearly murdered. Really, it's understandable."

Harry frowned. "I've been nearly murdered plenty of times and I didn't get like this."

"I think being nearly murdered a lot is the sort of thing that builds up," I said wisely.

Harry's eyes fell to his knees. "It was just such a waste. Everyone she loved was gone and she was so desperate not to be alone that she…" He swallowed. "It just makes me think, what if I'd lost you and Hermione? I wouldn't have been okay."

I reached out and grabbed his hand, despite my hand being manky from hours of blowing my nose. "Hey, mate, we're not going anywhere."

Harry smiled, communicating his thanks wordlessly. "Good. Because the way you're acting, I thought this cold was going to be the end of you."

I groaned and let my head fall back against my pillows. "Why can't I have some bird watching after me with big boobs and maybe a little nurse's uniform? She'd feel sorry for me and when she went to feel my forehead, I'd get a face full of cleavage."

Harry rolled his eyes and stood. "Sorry to break it to you, mate, but you look pretty disgusting. Your nose is red and drippy and the rest of you's the color of oatmeal. Don't think you'd be all that enticing to the girls right now."

I pouted. "See? You're mean!"

Harry shrugged. "No worries. You'll be back in action soon. I'll make you some chicken soup and in a few days, you'll be right back out there at the bars, chatting up Cannon's groupies."

"Okay," I said sleepily. "And you should come with me to celebrate."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Celebrate you getting laid? I don't think you want me involved in that celebration." His eyes went wide and his cheeks went red. He laughed nervously. "Right. I'm going to go start on that soup. You sleep."

He hurried out before I could figure out why he'd got so twitchy.

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	2. The Second Date

The Second Date

Dating went uphill for me after dominatrix woman. My next dating experience was short, but there were no unwelcome surprises (I made sure to keep on the lookout for key words like "open" or "adventurous") and I had sex. I had sex plenty of times after too. I couldn't recommend it highly enough. And it was good to have that badge of honor around the other guys. Neville had a steady girlfriend, Dean had lost his to some mystery girl back at Hogwarts (I suspected said mystery girl might have been a mystery because it was Ginny) and dated often, and sex was Seamus's favorite hobby and topic of conversation. It was nice to have something to add that earned me an impressed thump on the back from my mates.

Harry, sadly, wasn't even close to having sex. It was his big, shameful secret that we all knew. After the bookstore psycho, he'd practically become a hermit that occasionally visited George or Hermione, and had no dates to speak of. Understandable, of course, but not the best way to get laid.

But then, a few months after the healers patched up the seven holes in him, while pretending to eye the contents of our refrigerator, he mumbled something about not being able to get drinks with our ex-dorm mates that weekend because of other plans. My head jerked up and abandoned rubbing healing cream into the bruises I got from a run in with a bludger at practice. "Plans?" I repeated, confused. "But you don't ever have plans."

Harry glared at me. "I have plans sometimes. Maybe you just don't know about them."

"Mate, you haven't had plans since…"

And that's when it hit me. He hadn't had plans since his last date.

Harry didn't even want to talk about it, seemed really embarrassed. I had to trail him all over the flat, trying to wear him down with a constant stream of questions. I started to appreciate how easy I had it with Hermione, who I only had to drive to the brink of insanity before she'd tell me what I needed in an outburst of rage. Took ten minutes max. But Harry clammed up tight and kept his head, even through me following him around chanting, "Who is it who is it who is it who is it…" for a full hour. No wonder he was the Chosen One.

He wanted to keep it a secret so bad I half-expected he was going out with a mutant. But in the end, he had to tell me. I had the support of everyone we knew in insisting he couldn't go on a date without some discreet supervision in case anything happened again. I'd be coming along as a bodyguard, so either he could tell me in advance or I'd see for myself what he was hiding. He almost canceled it when I explained that. Then, after I made a big speech about how it hurt me that he couldn't trust me and that if he was buying dinner for a zombie, I actually thought that was a bit wicked, he finally dropped his fork into his eggs, buried his face in his hands and blurted out: "It's a guy. My date is with a guy. I'll understand if you want me to move out."

It was a rather big shock. My first, perhaps slightly insensitive question was, "The last one turned you off girls?" Which I followed up nicely with, "They won't all try to kill you, you know."

"Some just want you on your knees?" Harry replied with an uncertain smile.

"Well, I bet _your_ date's going to want you on your knees."

Yeah. Fuck is right with that one. The color drained from Harry's face and I had to quickly explain that I was only being mean by accident and that I really didn't care what gender he dated as long as there was no murdering involved.

I wasn't sure he believed me all the way, he kept sneaking glances at me like he'd catch me glaring at him or something. But he agreed to the backup. Mostly because he had no choice.

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Hermione and I assured Harry our chaperoning would be tactful and discreet. He didn't need to know the pair of us had visited the restaurant beforehand to draw out floor plans and exit strategies and coordinate attack formations with the wait staff. Also, Hermione had a full background check done on Harry's date. It had come out fine, no history that pointed to homicidal tendencies.

Hermione and I planned to pose as a couple eating at a nearby table, so I dropped by Hermione's to pick her up. I rifled through her refrigerator until she was ready for a pre-meal snack. She entered the kitchen, distractedly muttering to herself about whether she was forgetting anything, and dropped her little beaded purse onto her kitchen table. The resulting clang was so loud Crookshanks screeched and bolted down the hall. Despite Hermione's hurried protests, I peeked inside her handbag. Two guns, an extra wand, a pair of handcuffs, a pack of Decoy Detonators, a pouch of Peruvian Darkness Powder, three knives of different shapes and styles, a giant first aid kit and lipstick.

"Uh, Hermione? Are you one of those _open_ sorts of women?"

"What?"

"Never mind," I said. "What's all this stuff?"

She wrung her hands together. "Oh, I know it's too much. I _know_ that. It's just the charity thing was my fault, really. If I hadn't told you two to find dates he would never have got up the courage to ask that girl." She abruptly burst into tears. I put my arm around her in a comforting way, despite being a bit nervous around so much emotion. She summoned a dishtowel between hiccups and wiped at the streaks of tears on her cheeks. "And the worst part is that I wanted Harry to come because I thought him being there would help us raise more money! I'm a terrible person!"

We didn't have much time, so I pulled the dishtowel away from her and gently wiped away the black makeup smeared under her eyes. I quickly argued that she wasn't a terrible person for wanting to raise more money for shoeless war orphans and that it probably would have happened anyway and that look at how wonderful she was in making sure nobody messed with our Harry again!

"Thanks, Ron. Sometimes you're really sweet when you're not being infuriating."

"Hey, knock that off. I have a reputation."

A soft smile tugged at Hermione's mouth. "Sweet is a good thing."

"_Sweet_ is for your grandmum. I'd rather something like _strapping_ or _virile_."

Hermione laughed, which I didn't completely appreciate. The she sniffed, threw the delicate strap to her arsenal over her shoulder and we were out the door.

Craig, Harry's date, worked behind the counter of the local pizza shop where Harry picked up our dinner now and again. He was trying to scrape up enough money to get into a healer training program. Harry liked him. I didn't. There was something about watching Harry and Craig that got me hot under the collar. Craig touched Harry too often and laughed too hard at Harry's jokes and it made me nervous that after only a few dates, Harry started to get comfortable around him when _I_ thought he should keep his guard up. Hermione sipped drinks as we watched them from shadowy corners, smiling and saying it was cute. I was tempted to ask for one of her guns.

Hermione and Harry both noticed something was off with me and came to their independent conclusions that I was having issues with Harry being gay. Hermione gave me a huge lecture on how I needed to be supportive and how Harry deserved happiness. She said we should let him feel safe and loved as he explored his sexuality. My face burned at that. I don't know why. I'd teased Harry about sex enough with the bookstore psycho. Hermione saw me blush and let out a surprised, "Oh," then nodded in an abrupt sort of way and made tea. She never brought it up again. I didn't know what that meant and didn't want to. I was just glad I didn't have to go through another round of explaining how I didn't care that Harry was gay, I just wasn't sure about him with this particular guy.

Harry dealt with my supposed lack of support by trying not to mention the whole thing ever. Which was kind of sad. I mean, not that I really wanted to hear the details, but he got skittish every time I asked how things were going and just muttered, "Fine," as quickly as possible. It was like he thought if he changed the subject fast enough, I'd forget that he was dating anyone…except that I went on all his dates…

Until he kicked me and Hermione off the case, that is. Said it made him nervous and weirded out Craig. See, Craig was clearly a prat. I forced Harry to compromise. Their first unsupervised date would take place in our flat while I stayed the night at Seamus's where we'd watch sports and be ready to leap through the fireplace to behead Craig at a moment's notice.

A few hours (and several beers) after the date started, Seamus was against my idea of checking in. "A man needs his privacy," he said. "What if they're in the middle of shagging?"

I felt a burst of savage rage at that idea, though I didn't know why. I logically responded with, "Well, what if they're in the middle of Craig murdering Harry?"

And how do you argue with that one, really? We decided we could do it all casual-like: "Oh whoops! Was tonight your date? Don't mind us, just ran out of beer. No blood anywhere? Okay, we'll just head out then!"

In hindsight, we shouldn't have grabbed the fire pokers at the last minute. We had alcohol and testosterone thrumming through us, but really, last minute plan-changes involving brandishing weaponry while jumping out of fireplaces aren't good ones. I mean, I've only had that one experience, but I assume you can extrapolate.

Anyway, we half-stepped, half-leapt out of the fireplace, pokers raised over our heads. Seamus even had this half battle cry thing going that would've been more impressive if he hadn't choked on soot.

Harry and Craig's heads shot up in surprise, but I was just as startled as they were. I don't know what I expected, but it definitely wasn't what I found. Harry lay on our couch with Craig hovering over him. They'd been kissing, obviously. Harry's face was flushed and his glasses were crooked and his bottom lip was shining and swollen. Craig lay between Harry's legs and I found myself unexpectedly thinking about the insides of Harry's thighs. I couldn't tear my eyes away.

Harry pushed at a frozen Craig and the arse crawled off of him with obvious reluctance. I stepped back, sputtering an apology, and the ankle of my trousers caught on fire. Seamus doused it with water quick enough, but it kept smoking as we stood there.

"What are you doing?" Harry demanded after Craig excused himself to the loo. The poor guy looked mortified. I didn't know if he was embarrassed about our behavior, his behavior, or both.

Seamus and I looked at each other.

"Uh, was tonight your date? We just ran out of beer," Seamus offered.

Harry crossed his arms and nodded at the pokers. "Yeah? And those are for…"

"Bottle openers?" Seamus suggested, miming it hopefully.

"Skull bashers," I admitted. "We just wanted to make sure. After last time…"

"I _know_ what happened last time," Harry snapped. "But I can't have every date chaperoned. Besides, _you_ guys are the ones always telling me I need to have sex…"

"Yeah, but not with _him_," I blurted before I could stop myself. Both Harry and Seamus stared at me.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "I _knew_ you had a problem with it! You scaring off Craig isn't going to make me snap out of liking guys." He turned on his heel and started off, but I grabbed his arm.

"I don't care about you sleeping with guys," I said firmly. "I just don't trust _him_."

Harry jerked his arm away and fixed me with a dark glare. "Right."

We all looked over when Craig stepped out of the hall, clearing his throat. "Well, it's late."

"Don't go," Harry pleaded. "They're leaving."

Craig shook his head and headed quickly for the fireplace. He fumbled around there, presumably with the floo powder, as Harry's shoulders sagged with disappointment.

"Hey, seriously, we'll get out of your way," Seamus called, his eyes jumping between the pair apologetically. "Don't end the evening just 'cause we're pillocks. We just wanted to make sure Harry was okay." He held up the poker. "Seriously, mate, we were only going to thrash you if you weren't being a gentleman."

"Seamus," Harry hissed.

Craig turned and looked to Harry. "You're a good bloke. It's nothing personal, okay? Just remember that."

Harry's took a panicked step forward. "Aren't we going out again? I thought we were going to the cinema on Saturday."

Eyes nervously darting to the poker in my hand, Craig shook his head. "I don't think so."

Harry stepped forward again. "But…"

But Craig stepped through the floo and was gone. Harry stopped and stared as the flames turned from green back to yellow.

The silence was terrible. I could see Seamus next to me out of my peripheral vision, eyes wide, stiff as a board, not daring to move a muscle. My body was just as still, because we'd not only fucked up Harry's date, we'd somehow caused him to get dumped by the only person he'd dared to date after the bookstore psycho. Whoever moved first was dead. Seamus and I obviously agreed on that point.

Finally, Harry turned, not looking at either of us, and headed straight for the hall.

I couldn't help it. "Harry…"

"Fuck you, Ron!"

We both winced as his door slammed.

iIiIiIi

I thought he'd never forgive me. The whole night, I sat on my bed with my head in my hands, trying to figure out how to fix things. I just kept coming back to the same conclusion. This was it. This would be Harry's last straw. I'd betrayed him fourth year during that stupid tournament. I'd failed him during the Horcrux hunt. And now I'd scared off his chance to get laid. It was unforgivable.

I fell asleep in the early morning and woke up around noon. I was terrified to leave my room. I half expected Harry and all his stuff to just be gone, half expected him to hex my balls off. But I wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

Plus, I was really hungry.

I tiptoed down the hall and poked my head into the kitchen. Harry sat at the kitchen table, the paper in front of him, staring blankly ahead. I would have turned around and slinked away, but he blinked up at me and I was caught.

"You were right," he said quietly. His eyes dropped back to the table. He looked defeated. "I should have listened."

Confused as hell but liking the way this was going, I warily stepped into the kitchen, reminding myself it could be a trap. "You mean 'cause he scared off so easy?"

"No." The dead quality to his voice had me instantly worried. Had _I_ done that to him? He swallowed and pulled his teacup closer to him. "I mean 'cause the pictures he took without my knowledge of us on the couch together are in every major adult magazine in the wizarding world, and if you hadn't barged in when you did, it would have been even more humiliating than it already is."

I stared at him while he stared at nothing. "_WHAT?_" I stomped over. I could see the corner of a magazine under his newspaper. "Let me see."

Harry looked up in alarm and yanked the newspaper fully over it, then slid the whole thing away from my reaching hand. "No. I don't want anyone to see, ever! Hermione was over this morning. She said she'd make everyone promise not to look at it." He put his head in his hands. "Of course, it's bad enough that snapshots are on the cover of every tabloid there is, but at least it's not the whole thing like in the adult magazines. Not the whole long thing with me fumbling and making dumb faces that everyone's going to see and fuck fuck _fuck_." His fingers clenched tightly in his hair and tugged.

Without a word and with my mouth pressed into a trembling line, I stalked into the living room and searched the area. Harry followed me.

"What are you doing?"

I picked the poker up from where I'd left it. "I'm going to kill him. If the aurors come around asking, though, I never said that. Hermione will cover up the rest."

"Don't be an idiot," Harry sighed and went back into the kitchen.

"I'm going to do it!" I called.

"You don't know where he lives," Harry called back.

"Ha! Hermione got a full background check done on him," I said smugly, walking back into the kitchen. "I could floo his mum if I wanted."

It just made Harry look tired. "Please leave it alone, Ron. You messing with him will make things even more stressful. And he's got more stuff that he hasn't printed yet…things I told him. Maybe he's just waiting for a better offer, but maybe he just needed the money and now that he's got some he won't give the rest of it away. But I'm pretty sure he'll give the rest away if he has to get a hunk of metal removed from his skull."

I set the poker on the table and slumped into the chair across from him. I grabbed his teacup and took a sip. It was cold. I levitated over the teapot off the stove and topped it off before sliding it back to him. "What sort of things does he know?"

Harry blushed. "Just…things." He sipped at the tea and his shoulders relaxed fractionally.

My ears perked up at the way he said that. "Things you haven't told me?"

"Some things I have, like the Durlseys…oh God, I told him all about the Durlseys." He buried his head in his hands, his fingers gripping at his hair.

If Craig published anything about Harry's childhood, I would kill him. If I could beat Hermione there. But I was distracted from that. "So some of the things you haven't told me?" I pushed.

He shrugged. "I guess."

"You told him and not me."

Harry looked up in surprise. "It was just stupid stuff, Ron. No reason to get upset."

"Well, what is it, if it's just stupid stuff?" I asked reasonably. "I'm your best mate, aren't I? Why don't I know?"

Harry's jaw dropped a little. Apparently he didn't think I'd care so much, but hey, when your best friend tells you he's divulged secrets to a practical stranger that he doesn't want in the Prophet, well, it gets a best friend wondering what those secrets are.

"Ron, it's just stuff you wouldn't get. Stuff you wouldn't want to hear," he explained as if this was obvious. He stood and started piling his things together, using the Prophet to wrap up the magazine as if it were something dirty he couldn't stand to touch.

"That I wouldn't get? What, 'cause I'm dumb?" I demanded irritably. I couldn't believe he had secrets from me that he could tell someone else. I understood secrets that you never tell anyone, like how when I was thirteen, I practiced kissing on my hand and my mirror told me I had bad form. Or how I'd been so jealous of Harry's dress robes and so angry about mine, that I cut a little snip in the collar that Harry had never noticed. Or that when Hermione had shouted "_Erecto!_" to put up the tent during the Horcrux hunt, I got a little aroused. But whatever Harry's secrets were, he'd told _Craig_ of all people! Fucking Craig.

Harry gaped. "What? No! It's just stuff you wouldn't want to hear." He'd said that already and it made me even more curious.

"Like what?"

"Like…like when I first started fancying guys, for example," Harry said, flustered. "Just stuff like that, okay? Stuff I wouldn't want detailed in Witch Weekly, but nothing you'd want to hear."

"I want to hear," I protested. "Tell me. When did you first start fancying guys?" I asked the question before I thought about it, but as soon as I heard myself say it, I really wanted to know. It occurred to me that he might have fancied someone I knew. I tilted my head a little. "Who _was_ the first guy you liked?"

I have still, to this day, never seen Harry blush so red. He bowed his head and picked up his newspaper and magazine. "Nobody."

"Oh come on, I won't take the piss, I swear." I almost added, _Unless it's Malfoy. Or Snape. Or any teacher. Or, ew, a Creevy_, but I caught my tongue. Because what if it _was_ Malfoy or Snape or a teacher or (ew) a Creevy. Then I wouldn't have been a very understanding friend who deserved to hear these things. Besides, Harry had suffered enough embarrassment for the day. "I don't keep this stuff from you!" I whined.

"Well your life isn't as humiliating as mine," Harry said and he sounded so convinced that he was speaking the truth that for a moment I considered telling him about the _Erecto_ thing. But I didn't, because I wanted to be able to carry on living.

I sat up straight, preparing for my moment of maturity and going above and beyond the call of duty in our friendship. "Hey, whoever it is, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. I don't care if you fancied Colin Creevy, I wouldn't think any less of you."

His face twisted in disgust. "Ew, Ron." And he left.

Thank Merlin.

iIiIiIi

A week or so later I caught Harry eyeing me while we sat on our couch, TV on, eating takeout from the cartons. He was barely touching his food.

"Wha?" I asked through a mouthful of curry. "Somefink on m'face?"

"Seamus has slept with men," he said.

I stopped my search for sauce on my shirt and blinked at him. "Yeah. Didn't you know?"

Obviously he hadn't. Poor bloke looked like he was in shock. "No. Nobody said. It just came up and everyone thought I already knew."

I felt like there was something I wasn't getting. Harry looked so affected by this. I tried to tap into my most sensitive inner self, just to prove Hermione wrong about my emotional range being stunted. "And you're…mad. Because…because you wouldn't have felt so alone if you knew," I said. A slow start, but ending with a tone of deep understanding. I felt rather impressed with myself. I was really deep!

But he was staring suspiciously at _me_.

"He said you'd always been supportive and never had a problem with him talking about it or anything."

What was Harry trying to say? "Why wouldn't I have been?"

"So you don't have a problem with him liking blokes?"

"What? 'Course not. Why would I?"

Harry looked so confused. "But, so…so with _me_ liking blokes…"

Oh great. Back to that shite. I set down my curry and wiped my hands on my jeans. "Harry, I honestly have no problem whatsoever with you liking blokes. I wasn't raised to think of it as anything odd. Bill's had boyfriends before."

"He _has_?" Harry's eyes practically bugged out of his head. "But I thought you disapproved!"

"That's 'cause you're an idiot," I said helpfully. "I told you I didn't care. I don't know why you're being so paranoid about me and not about anyone else." Okay, so I was miffed. And maybe a little sulky. But it wasn't fair that he'd randomly chosen me to hang all his neuroses on.

"So when you saw me with Craig, the horrified look was really just surprise?" he asked slowly. "If I'd have slept with him, you would've been okay?"

Rage welled up in me before I even had the chance to stop it or understand it. The thought of Harry, _my_ Harry, with that…that scummy _rat_… "No, not _Craig_." I practically spat his name.

Harry looked a little taken aback but nodded. "Yeah, okay. You figured him for a bad sort before us all."

I had, hadn't I? I mean, obviously I hadn't thought he'd do something like _that_. Really, I just hadn't liked watching him with Harry. Something about the way he'd put his hand on Harry's knee under the table had made me want to punch him in the nose. Or when Harry would smile fondly at him, I wanted to scream that Craig wasn't right for him, even though I couldn't think of one reason why not. And when I'd seen them on the couch, something about that had shook me to my very core. I knew Craig should _not_ be the one with Harry. Even the idea of them at the cinema together made me want to smash something.

Damn, I really _did_ have good instincts! I immediately planned to rub that insight into Hermione's face. Emotional range of a teaspoon? I think not. I picked Craig out as untrustworthy when she thought he was nice!

"So what about someone else then? Like, if it had been a guy from a pub or something," Harry threw out nervously. "You'd be okay with that? It's just, you looked so…freaked out."

My jaw clenched as I thought about Harry on the couch with some drunk guy from a pub who just wanted to get laid. "Not with some pub guy. That wouldn't be right for you."

"Why not? You go home with random girls all the time." His eyes narrowed in suspicion and the beginnings of anger. "So if it were a random girl, you'd be fine with it then?"

And honestly, the image was a little better, I had to admit. What was going on with me? Actually, I didn't like that image either, because all I could think of was things she could pull out of her purse: a knife, a gun, poison to drop in his drink. "No, 'cause all I can think of is bookshop psycho," I said, grabbing my curry.

"Don't call her that," Harry muttered.

"She tried to kill you," I reminded him, stuffing a forkful in my mouth. We'd had this conversation before.

"Her whole family was murdered. She had problems." He looked sad and poked at his curry. "So that's girls. Why not guys?"

"It's not like you can't date anyone, mate. I'm just always going to be suspicious of them now. And now, you happen to be dating guys."

It was occurring to me, though, that my reasons of why I didn't like the ideas of Harry with the different sexes were different after all. Girls seemed threatening because you didn't expect it, and psycho bookstore girl had obviously scarred me about that. Plus, I'd seen so many girls just wanting Harry for his name, it seemed like they'd always be after something else. Money, status, thrill, murder, whatever.

But guys with Harry, that's what got my blood boiling.

A girl, to me, was Harry in a pool of blood. A bloke…well a _bloke_ was the one making Harry gasp on the couch. A bloke was the one grabbing Harry's thigh and pulling him close. A bloke was the one kissing him and running a hand up his shirt.

And_ I_ wanted that. _I_ wanted to be that bloke.

It hit me like a bludger made of lead. I froze. My breathing halted. I must've gone pale because suddenly Harry's face melted into concern. He set his curry on the table. "Hey, you feeling okay?"

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

"Ron?" Harry leapt to his feet, eyes going wide. "Are you choking?"

I shook my head weakly.

"What do you need? Are you going to be sick? Should I get you to the loo? Are you going to faint? Do you need water?"

I nodded at that one, just to get Harry to shut up for a second. He raced off to the kitchen.

Okay, what was going on? It had been a long time since my last shag, now that I thought about it. Was I just so horny that the memory of Harry and Craig had me hot under the collar? Did I really want Harry or was I just feeling so protective of him that I was fantasizing dating him just so he didn't have to date someone who'd betray him? Or did I hate Craig so much that I wanted to show him how it was done or something equally terrible? Or maybe someone had slipped an aphrodisiac into my curry. The bloke at the curry shop always did strike me as a bit dodgy.

Harry was there again with the glass of water. He knelt in front of me, looking up into my face with concern. I pictured us on the couch together. Him moaning while his thighs wrapped around _my_ waist.

I wanted him.

And then I was hard. Fuck. He hadn't noticed because he was intently watching my face, like I was about to drop dead and he was searching for a sign that he should call St. Mungo's.

"I need to, uh, lie down," I stammered.

"You're on a couch, mate. Lie down here." Practical bloke. Terribly annoying.

I stumbled to my feet. "I might need the loo first," I said and hurried toward the hall.

"What can I do?" Harry called, following.

"Nothing, nothing," I said over my shoulder. "I'm fine. I just…curry's disagreeing with me." Not the sexiest excuse in the world to someone I'd just realized I might want to do sexual things with, but I didn't want him calling Hermione in to give me a physical.

Later, once I'd taken refuge in my bed, he poked his head in to check on me.

"Ron?" he whispered.

I pretended to be asleep and he left. I needed time to think.

iIiIiIi

Hermione strode through our apartment, muttering about the non-existent mess as always. Harry steered her to the couch and I grabbed us some butterbeers.

"I had the most embarrassing date the other night," she groaned. "Everything was going well, but when we left the restaurant, the wind blew my hair into my face, so I flipped it, trying to be all sexy like Parvati used to do it, and I flipped it straight into his mouth. He spit it out."

Harry chuckled, sipping from his bottle. Hermione was energized by the reaction. She loved seeing our best friend happy. I think half the reason she'd lightened up as she got older was for Harry's benefit. That's where Hermione and I understood each other.

"I got so panicked, I tried wiping it off where it stuck to his skin. I should have just stepped back, but I was so embarrassed I just shoved my hand at the problem, but then he moved and some of my fingers went straight into his mouth and he was so surprised, he bit down!"

I grinned, both at the story (I enjoy Hermione not being perfect), and at the amused look on Harry's face.

"Well, sounds like you made a right fool of yourself," I said.

Hermione glared at me.

"Now that you're dating again, can you tell us what happened with Steve?" Harry asked hopefully. Hermione had dated Steve for a few months, since a little before the charity ball. It was going well until one day she suddenly wasn't seeing him. Every time we asked, Hermione turned bright red and changed the subject, which of course only made us more curious.

"Come on, we're your best friends," I urged eagerly. "If we can't share humiliating dating stories, what do we have really?" I shot a quick warning glance to Harry behind Hermione's back to quash that mischievous glint in his eye. If he so much as muttered the word "wench," I'd beat the crap out of him.

"I told you about getting rejected by Cho," Harry whined.

"You were fourteen!"

"Well, that's all I've got!" Harry said helplessly.

"We'll just keep bugging you until you tell us," I said. "You know I can be pretty annoying when I want to be."

"It's true," Harry agreed. "I nearly jumped out the window last time he wanted information. He's got a gift."

"Ugh, fine," Hermione said, finally breaking. She took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. "Here's how this will go. I will tell you. You will want to ask questions. I will allow you each three guesses. You will be wrong. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" we said in unison. I was so excited. This was just getting more intriguing.

She took a long draw from her butterbeer. "I thought he was too uptight, sexually speaking. He was closed off when I wanted him to be more comfortable. So I thought sharing a fantasy with each other would put him at ease. I went first. I'm sure it wouldn't be that hard to guess."

Harry grinned wildly. "You're studying in the library and a guy…interrupts."

"Obvious, I suppose, but I can't help what I like," Hermione said, completely composed.

Harry and I lowered our bottles from our lips to make a few catcalls. Hermione rolled her eyes and waited for us to finish.

"Yes, yes, very mature. Anyway, that's the thing. You can guess mine, but I couldn't guess his. Too closed off." She took another gulp of her butterbeer. "Then he told me. And we broke up."

This was the single best thing I'd ever heard in my life. "Um, house elf and master! Gringotts goblin and bank customer! No, no! Gamekeeper and centaur!" I cried.

"No, no and no," Hermione said calmly. It delighted me that whatever it was seemed to be worse than my suggestions. I was in awe.

"Ron, the fact that you can even imagine those for your guesses disturbs me," Harry said through his laughter. "I really don't want to know what you get up to on your dates."

"Go on, Harry, get your guesses over with," Hermione sighed.

"No, I'm going to save mine. Ron and I will work together to come up with some really great ones."

"So, Harry," Hermione asked impishly. "What's your fantasy?"

Harry shrunk in his chair. "No way."

"I just said mine!" she protested. "We're friends, right? That's what you just said to me."

"Well why me? Bug Ron!"

"Okay, then. Ron…" She looked at me knowingly. I suddenly was reminded of our talk about me being a supposed homophobe. When she'd looked at me, said "Oh," then left…had she known? _I_ hadn't even known yet. But that would be so typical of Hermione, wouldn't it? If she'd brought this up because she somehow knew I'd spent the last few weeks fantasizing about Harry and was trying to get me to share my feelings, I'd kill her.

"Uh, Cannon's fan in the locker room after a game," I said. Hermione looked disappointed but said nothing to contradict me. I hoped it convinced her. I'd decided that I wasn't sure enough about how I felt to make a move on Harry. If this was a passing bout of insanity, I couldn't hurt him. And that wasn't even taking into account that if I declared my newfound desire to shag him through the ground, he might not feel the same way. I'd never been good with rejection and I couldn't bear it coming from him. "Harry's turn."

Harry sipped his beer. "Okay. Let me think," he said, his eyebrows furrowing. "I don't have one on hand, sorry. I'm trying to think of situations really quick and see if anything catches my fancy, but I don't even know what the options are…"

"I can guess it," I said easily.

Both of them looked to me in surprise.

"You can?" Hermione asked, impressed. "Because even I don't think I could."

I nodded seriously. "Detention with the Potions professor."

"UUUGGHH!!" Harry erupted.

Hermione and I burst into laughter. Harry launched himself at me and we scuffled a bit. He got me in a headlock and downed my butterbeer while my arms flailed around trying to grab at it.

Later, after Hermione left, Harry and I sat having another bottle. The sun had gone down outside and we left the fire we'd set for the floo going. It was relaxing.

"I know what your real fantasy is," I said. I don't know why I did. I just thought he didn't seem to know it himself and he should. Everyone should know that about themselves, right?

Harry looked over at me skeptically. "I really don't think I have one."

I watched the hypnotic fire leap around as I spoke. "You're coming back from the cinema with someone you've been with for a long time. You stumble in through the front door, laughing together, maybe you're wet from the rain, maybe you've just been joking with each other the whole way and are nearly out of breath with laughter. You start kissing before you can even get the door closed, so you have to just kick it shut all clumsy-like or fall against it and let it slam. And you toss your keys onto the counter and drop your jackets to the floor, and stumble off to your bedroom."

I looked over at him. Harry swallowed. His eyes were filled with such sadness and longing that I felt bad about saying anything. "Yeah," he said thickly. "That would be…" He took a sip of his butterbeer and looked at the fire.

"You'll have that one day, you know," I said.

He nodded, but he clearly didn't believe it. I wanted to say we could have that. It could be us. But I couldn't make the words come.

iIiIiIiIiIiIiIi

Thank you to everyone who's reviewing!


	3. The Third Date

Warning: This chapter contains dark content including a non-explicit non-consensual situation.

The Third Date (3/4)

I tiptoed down our sunlit hall toward the kitchen, praying Harry wasn't awake yet. The day before, the Cannons had demolished the Harpies and our whole team went to a pub to celebrate. Harry and Hermione had been there with me for a little while, but they left around the time my teammates started throwing girls at me who were impressed by my keeping skills. I ended up taking one home long after Harry left. It had seemed like a great idea at the time. I told myself it could either snap me out of the Harry thing or give me a clue about whether I was willing to give up sex with girls.

I regretted it immediately. Not even after it was happening. _ While_ it was happening. I didn't want another girl who wouldn't be interested in me for a second if I weren't on the Cannons. The thought of it being Harry instead was so much better that I wanted to kick the girl out right after we slept together, but that wouldn't have been fair to her. She had said I flew like a majestic eagle, after all.

When I woke up, she wasn't in my bed. It was pretty late. I prayed she'd snuck out in the middle of the night. I'd decided it was time to talk to Harry about us possibly trying something, as much as my nerves made me want to sick up a little, but I didn't think that conversation would go as well if he knew I'd just took home a fan girl.

Yet, as I reached the kitchen…

"Oh come on, you can tell me! Was your scar really connected to You Know Who?"

I winced. Apparently my date's fascination with fame didn't stop at sports stars.

When I entered the kitchen, Harry was pushing eggs onto my date's plate. She beamed at him giddily, clad in one of my Cannons t-shirts, then saw me and let out a squeal. "Ronnie! Ooh, how lucky am I? A Quidditch star and the Boy Who Lived! My friends will never believe this."

Harry dumped the pan in the sink and grabbed his own plate. He clapped me on the shoulder before heading for his bedroom.

My spirits deflated. And he'd looked so good in his low-slung pajama pants and t-shirt.

"So," my date said, leaning forward onto her elbows and shooting me a mischievous smile, "I don't suppose Harry would want to join us for a little fun. A little celebrity sandwich?"

Right. I was definitely done with this.

Harry warily poked his head back in as I was washing up. "She gone?"

"Yup. Never doing vodka shots again."

Visibly relaxing, Harry brought his dishes over. "She was attractive," he offered.

"I guess. But, you know, I think I'm done with all that now," I said. Why not lay the groundwork, at least? "I decided I'm not really interested in the types I've been dating."

Harry smirked. "We're calling it dating then?"

I fixed him with a glare. "Oh shut it, I'm trying to say something important here."

"Okay. So, what? No more bimbos?"

"_Fan girls_ makes me sound like less of an arsehole."

A grin spread over Harry's face. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Don't you have anything to say? Hermione would say I was growing."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Harry said. He opened the refrigerator and pretended to look through, but I knew Harry and this act was familiar. He was about to say something he was going to try to play off as no big deal. But it would be. "Speaking of dating, Lee Jordan was hanging around Wheezes when I visited George the other day. He knows this guy, friend of a friend or something…anyway, I'm going out Saturday."

My hand slowed in its scrubbing. This had to happen _now_? I shut off the sink and turned to him. "Alright," I said reluctantly. "I'll let Hermione know."

He winced, still pretending to consider the contents of the fridge. "That's the thing. You and Hermione aren't coming."

For a moment, it was crickets.

"No way. You're not going alone. Absolutely not." I wasn't into Harry dating but I'd suffer through watching it because what happened with bookstore psycho or fucking _Craig_ was never going to happen again.

Harry shut the fridge and took his beer to the table. "I know I can't go alone. Seamus offered to do the trailing and I think that's a good idea," he said weakly. "Not that you weren't a good bodyguard, you were great! I felt completely safe. But Seamus has been with guys so I won't feel quite so uncomfortable with him watching me on a date with a guy."

My fists clenched. "For the last time, Harry, I'm not homophobic!"

He nodded emphatically. "I know! I believe you. It's me. It's just easier for me to know that Seamus likes guys too. I'll feel less self-conscious."

"Self-conscious about what? What are you going to be doing with this date, giving him a hand-job in the loo?" I scoffed.

Harry glared at me. Then he looked away and shrugged.

My eyebrows shot into my hairline. "What? You're not seriously considering doing something like that with some stranger!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Boy, Ron, so sorry to offend you since you have such close relationships with all the girls you've been with. Please, remind me of the name of the girl I just served breakfast to?"

Fuck.

Harry tapped a finger to his chin. "Let's see, and where was it that that one girl gave you a blowjob? Was it…in the loo of a pub?"

Fuck again.

"It's different."

"Why?" He just sounded weary.

"Because your dates are more high risk than mine," I said, though it wasn't the real reason. The idea of some guy putting his hands on Harry and pushing him up against a dirty bathroom wall made me feel murderous. Harry deserved better than that. I thought of another good point. "Plus, your first time with this stuff should be in some place better than a grotty toilet. And you're not the one-off type. What happened to the cinema and the long term relationship fantasy?"

Harry sighed and ran a finger through the condensation on his beer bottle. "If I had a choice of course I would have a boyfriend and do this stuff in a bedroom with clean sheets and all that. But that's just not reality and I don't mind it, really. I'm not planning on having sex with him, but I just…I deserve to know what some of this stuff is like, don't I? Out of everyone we know, I'm the only virgin and I haven't even made it past snogging. I can't work, I can't date, I can barely go outside. I want to have a life."

I didn't know what to say.

He cleared his throat. "Anyway, I don't know what will happen, but if Seamus is the only one who's there, he's talked to me about stuff he's done and I think he'll understand more. He doesn't have a problem with it while, as this conversation has reinforced, it makes you uncomfortable. Seamus has seen it all before so if I do end up snogging the guy out back, or whatever, it won't be ruined by me worrying about what my friends are thinking of me."

I stayed silent.

Harry nodded and stood. "Okay, then. It's settled. Don't worry, it'll be fine."

It was not settled, of course. I was going. Harry just wouldn't know I was going.

iIiIiIi

They met up at a restaurant, but instantly made my job difficult with a change of plans. Harry's date didn't impress me much. He seemed a bit twitchy. Luckily, they walked to their new destination instead of apparating, possibly Harry's idea since he knew Seamus had to follow. I trailed them at a distance. My hair was now dark brown and with that simple change I was pretty unrecognizable, but I still had to keep behind Seamus, who admittedly was doing an ace job of blending in. Part of me wished I knew what Harry and his date were talking about. I hoped their conversation was a snooze-fest and this guy was taking him to an art exhibit or something equally boring.

I groaned when I saw them go into a dodgy-looking bar with pounding music, flashing lights and only men hanging around it. A gay bar. A place to get tipsy and grope each other. Wonderful.

I waited a few minutes after the others went in, then slipped inside myself. Harry and his date were sitting on the bar stools. Seamus was a few stools down, talking to the bartender. Harry's fingers nervously brushed his fringe down over his scar, but he talked and sipped his drink. The place was crowded but most were up dancing, so I found an empty booth across the room to sit at. A waiter came up and took my drink order.

"You're not here alone, bloke like you?" the waiter asked. He was cute, of course, since trendy bars tended to hire attractive staff, but I only had eyes for Harry. I tried not to make my staring too obvious, though, lest I be kicked out for stalking.

"I'm waiting for my…boyfriend," I said.

"Mm, you look a bit like that Quidditch player. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Uh..."

"Boyfriend's gotta like that, eh?" He winked and walked back to the bar.

I pretended to watch the crowd at random, but I kept an eye on Harry and Seamus. Seamus brushed off a few invitations to dance, continuing to chat with the bartender when he wasn't busy. But his expression grew tighter as the minutes passed, so I knew he was watching Harry's date. I, too, was getting increasingly peeved at this guy.

Harry was obviously trying—he seemed to carry most of the conversation—but his date kept glancing at his watch and looking around the place. How could he not see that he was on a date with the best bloke in the world? It wasn't like I wanted the date to go well, but I'd wanted _Harry_ to do the rejecting! Harry didn't need this. Poor guy kept nervously sipping at his drink. He got another before his date had even drunk a third of his.

Then, his date put a hand to his stomach and winced. He said something to Harry, whose brow furrowed in concern as he nodded. His date went off to the loo. Well, maybe not a complete arse then, maybe he just wasn't feeling well.

Harry got up, shook his head at Seamus and waved a hand for him to stay put and just pointed toward the loos. Going to see if his date was okay.

Well, this wasn't so bad after all. Harry wasn't being rejected, unless his date had snuck out the back, which would be stupid since they'd already paid for their drinks. His date was probably just sick, Harry wouldn't be getting all hot and bothered with some strange bloke, and I'd have time to feel him out and see if he'd want to get hot and bothered with me instead.

After a few minutes, Harry hadn't come back. Worry crept in. What if they _were_ getting hot and bothered together in the loo? But no. Harry might be desperate, but he'd need to be much drunker and having a much better time for something like that to happen. I knew Harry and no matter how curious he was about sex, he wasn't going to get up to anything with a guy who had acted bored during the ten minutes they'd known each other. Seamus got up and went to check on them. Poor Harry was probably stuck taking care of some guy puking in the toilets. What a date.

Minutes ticked by. My drink came and I brushed off the flirty waiter. I knew they were probably in there trying to figure out what to do with the sick guy, who was probably puking too much for them to leave him or take him home, but I didn't like Harry out of my sight while I didn't know what was going on. Images from the charity ball started creeping in, then ones of Harry on the couch with Craig. I shifted anxiously and checked my watch. Unless Seamus was involved in a threesome, there was no way me walking in there would ruin Harry's date this time. He'd be ticked off, but I just couldn't wait anymore. I had to make sure everything was okay.

Abandoning my table, I ducked down the dimly lit hall, edging by some guy giving a blowjob on the way. Harry really didn't belong at a place like this.

"Don't bother, 's locked," a guy walking back toward the dance area said, nodding at the door to the toilets. "Use the alley."

I gulped. What if there _was_ something sexual going on in there? What if Harry and Seamus…no. No way. I hesitated. But why would they lock the door if it was just the guy getting sick?

I needed to know. Wondering if it was a horrible idea, I took out my wand, whispered, "Alohomora," and quietly pushed in the door. I figured I'd just poke my head in and if I was wrongheaded about it, I'd just duck out before causing too much damage.

The first thing I saw was Seamus on his back, face splashed in blood. He was surrounded by three wizards, none of whom were watching the door. One had his foot on Seamus's throat, another sat on his legs and mockingly grabbed at his thighs. Seamus was conscious. His head was turned away from me, looking down the aisle of stalls at something I couldn't see, but he was snarling as best he could with a foot against his windpipe.

I wordlessly shot a Patronus down the hall. Hermione and I had trained and trained to be able to do that spell wordlessly since bookstore psycho. She would respond to my cry for backup wherever she was. Knowing Harry was on a date, she'd be ready. I just hoped she'd get here in time before whatever was happening got worse.

"Get off 'im," Seamus rasped.

The man sitting on his legs laughed and rubbed Seamus's thigh as if appeasing a dog. "You'll like it, kid. You'll see. Then after we've had our turn with him, maybe one of us'll have energy for you. Or hell, we can leave him here and you can have a go. He won't have any fight left in him by then."

Seamus growled and flailed but then went rigid and made a terrible choking sound as the foot pressed down.

I pointed my wand and, with a cry of "Stupefy!" took out the guy stepping on Seamus's neck. The man fell to the floor with a crash, his head thunking against the tiles. Seamus gulped in air with desperation. The second guy, who'd just been standing there, charged at me. I fired, but he threw up a shield. I threw a punch, and it hit, but the guy was built like a troll. I punched, I kicked, I tried to get my wand at a good angle to curse. On the floor, the guy on Seamus's legs had crawled up his body and had a wand jabbed into his cheek.

I almost had the upper hand in my fight, getting a good kick in to my opponent's knee, when suddenly a fourth guy came out of the aisle, and shoved a wand to my temple. The huge man I'd been fighting punched me in the gut and it knocked the wind out of me. I sank to my knees, stunned. My wand was snatched from my hand and tossed into the sink out of my reach. Then the giant man grabbed my arms, twisted them behind my back and pulled me to my feet. The fourth man secured the door again. On his way back, he spat in my face.

Up until that point, I hadn't had time to figure out what was going on in the aisle of stalls where all the attention had been focused, but the troll of a man who had me in his iron grip dragged me over. They all seemed desperate to get back to what they'd been doing.

I stilled at the sight for a moment, then started struggling against my captor and spitting out every profanity I'd ever learned.

Harry's back was against the wall, his hands tied above his head where they were secured to the wall my magic. His head lolled forward limply. I could see his jacket crumpled on the floor. His shirt was spotted with blood where it dripped from his face.

No one else was there. His date had either run scared or more likely, judging by all those the glances to his watch, had set Harry up for this. But why? Why would someone do this?

The fourth man sidled up to Harry and cast me a sick, smug smirk. He grabbed Harry's hair and shook his head back and forth until Harry's eyes dragged themselves open.

"Look, Harry, another of your fans joined the party. I think he wanted to be a hero. I think he wanted to be _your_ hero. How does it feel, needing to be rescued? Do you feel powerless, Harry?"

Harry looked over at me. He didn't have his glasses and for a moment stared at me in confusion, not having my orange hair as a clue. I knew my yelling gave me away when horror blossomed over his face. But he said nothing. That scared me. It meant he didn't know what to do. Harry always figured out some game plan during bad situations, but now he looked defeated. What the hell was going on to make _Harry_ lose his spirit?

The man stroked the back of his finger down Harry's cheek and Harry flinched away, turning his head as far to the side as he could and shutting his eyes tightly. The man grabbed Harry's chin and violently pulled his head back around. "Don't you turn your face away from me. I paid good money to look at that scar when I fuck you."

My lungs froze. What? I'd thought they were going to beat him up! I felt cold. No. NO! They couldn't do this. Not to Harry.

The man behind me shook me to stop my wild struggling and yanked me close to get control. I felt his erection against my back as he stared at Harry with intent. He was waiting his turn, I realized. They all were. To…to…

The man popped the button on Harry's trousers. Harry began to panic, trying to twist his hips away with jerky movements, but the man pushed his body up against Harry's with a laugh. "Down, tiger," he purred.

His body blocked my view and I couldn't see what was happening, but Harry suddenly began bucking and wrenching against his restraints. "No!" he howled. "Get _off_ me!"

"Not such a hero now, are you, boy? Did you ever beg the Dark Lord like that? I bet you didn't. You're just going to beg _me_."

My body started shaking with rage. "Get the fuck away from him!" I screamed, spittle flying from my mouth. "I'll kill you, you son of a bitch! I'll fucking kill you!"

The man ignored me. His free hand grabbed Harry's chin again and made Harry face him again. The man's eyes blazed with fury. "I told you not to turn your fucking face away. That scar is what I paid for."

Suddenly, there was a huge, splintering crash behind me. I couldn't see, but suddenly I was falling. The guy who had been holding me hostage dropped me, turning to fight, but he collapsed to the ground unconscious behind me in a second. I flew toward the man who was pulling away from Harry and scrambling for his wand. With a primal roar, I collided with him and threw him into the last stall, against the far wall. His head hit the tiles. I punched his face and his head crashed into them again. Then I punched him again and again and again…

"RON! That's enough!"

It was Hermione's voice, but it made me remember Harry.

I turned. Neville was helping Seamus up, though the latter only seemed concerned with how Harry was. Dean carefully severed the ropes binding Harry's hands, then helped steady him when Harry's legs threatened to give out. Harry wouldn't look at anyone. He gently pushed back from Dean and shied away from Hermione's touch when she tried to hug him. His hands jerked toward his trousers, but then faltered with embarrassment under everyone's stares. That was my cue. I jumped forward and shooed them down toward Seamus and the unconscious bodies, telling Hermione to call the Aurors, telling Dean to get St. Mungo's with Seamus bleeding all over the place, and creating a barrier with my body so Harry could have privacy to button himself back up.

Once I was sure he had, I went back to him and lowered my voice. "Harry, are you…"

"Fine," he said in a strangled whisper, not once meeting my eye. I reached my hand out toward his shoulder and he flinched away. The only person he did dare to look at was Seamus, who was letting Neville mop at a wound on his forehead. "I'm so sorry, Seamus. I should have never asked you to come tonight. I didn't know…"

"Of course you didn't know, you arse," Seamus cut him off fiercely. "Don't you dare say you're sorry. I'm the one who should be apologizing. What a fuck-up I turned out to be as a bodyguard."

"I made you come alone," Harry protested, his voice sounding like it was being squeezed through a clenched fist. "I was being stupid. So damn stupid."

I remembered his words from the kitchen. _I want to have a life._

iIiIiIi

Seamus ended up at St. Mungo's for the night, but Harry refused to let healers near him. He wouldn't even go to the hospital to see Seamus get settled. He seemed terrified when one of the healers who came to the scene even looked at him too long. I think he was scared they'd look at him and know exactly what had happened. Then the Aurors showed up and insisted Harry give a statement. I watched him fold his arms around his chest, nod at the officer's questions. Then his eyes widened and he shook his head.

"Nobody touched me. It was just threats," I heard him say. I think we were meant to, so we could adjust our stories. It was a lie and I hoped it wasn't one that would keep these guys from getting strung up by their bollocks. But Harry wouldn't want what actually happened on file, would he? At best, it would be available for ministry workers to read, where it could get around to my dad. At worst, it would end up in the Prophet.

Abruptly, Harry walked away from the Auror and straight out the club's back door. I ran after, into the alley that might have been filled with couples if the club hadn't closed early when the Aurors and emergency medical crew showed up. It had apparently rained at some point, the ground was wet and the stone walls on either side glistened.

"Harry!"

He turned back. "I'm going home," he said, his voice wavering. He shut his eyes to collect himself, then kept on toward what looked like a good disapparating area.

"Let me side-apparate you," I said, catching up to him. "You know it's a bad idea for you to do it right now."

"No," he said stubbornly. "I'm doing it myself."

"Harry, let me help you." I reached out to him and he yanked himself away.

"I can do it myself!" he snapped. Before I could reason with him, he popped away.

With a caught breath, I scanned the ground to make sure he'd left no chunks of himself behind. It looked okay, so I apparated to our apartment.

I saw him disappear down the hall, and ran after him, right into the bathroom.

"Get out. I'm going to take a shower." He turned the water on to make the point.

"Harry, please talk to me," I pleaded. "What happened to you—"

Harry whirled to face me, eyes wide and panicked. "Nothing happened to me!" he yelled in a hysterical sort of voice. His breathing quickened and his arms curled protectively over his chest. I noticed he was trembling.

"Harry…"

"No! Just shut up! Stop talking!" he said desperately, his hands actually moving to his ears. "Just stop. And get out. I need to get clean. That toilet was all grotty and I can feel it all over me." His quivering fingers ghosted over his arms but didn't touch, like he was disgusted by his own skin. "I'm completely filthy." He gasped shakily and tears filled his eyes. He whipped his head away from me to hide it.

I stepped toward him and spoke softly. "Harry, you can cry. I fucking would."

"I'm not crying!"

I grabbed his shoulder and tried turning him toward me. "Harry, it's okay."

"_I'm not crying_!" he yelled. But when big tears spilled down his cheeks and a hiccupping sob escaped his throat, his face screwed up in alarm. He jerked away from me and stepped, clothes and all, over the tub ledge and into the shower. Water soaked him. He backed against the wall like a scared animal. "Leave me alone, Ron," he said quietly.

I wasn't going to leave him while he was breaking down. Without hesitation, I stepped into the tub as well, letting the warm water wash over me, wetting my shirt, pooling into my shoes.

Harry couldn't back away from me anymore, so he turned his head. It reminded me of when he was against that wall and I froze. I didn't want him to think of me like that. I couldn't think of what to do. I didn't want to do anything that would remind him of what had happened to him so I couldn't touch his face or his shoulder.

Before I could think, my fingers gently scooped his hand away from the wall and I held it loosely in mine. I waited.

Harry stood there, eyes closed, chest heaving. But then his fingers closed around mine. No longer able to fight the tears, his face scrunched up in an expression of anguish I'd never even imagined could cross Harry's face. It made my chest tighten. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. What was there to say? What could possibly make him feel better? But then, I knew.

"You're not alone, you know," I said softly. "I'm here."

He crumpled into my chest. I wrapped my arms tightly around him and sunk down with him until we were squeezed together in our tiny bathtub underneath the jet of water. His fists clung to my shirt. His sobs were muffled by the "shhhhh" of the showerhead, but his shoulders shook beneath my arms.

I closed my eyes, not even trying to say anything of comfort. All I could do was be there, so I squeezed him more tightly than was probably comfortable for him.

His wet hair brushed against my cheek. My skin slipped against the skin of his upper arms. My hands could feel his smooth back underneath his thin, wet shirt. Our legs were tangled together. It suddenly dawned on me that Harry was in my arms in a more intimate way than he'd ever been.

I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to pull back and cup his face and make him look at me. Then I'd kiss his scar to erase all the dirty feelings that man tonight had tied to it. Then, I'd lower my head, letting my nose ghost down his, letting our foreheads rest together and our breath mingle for a moment. I'd press my lips gently to his to show him how much I cared. Then I'd press my lips hard against his to show him how much I wanted him. We'd kiss, our chests would rise and fall together, then we'd pull off our wet shirts…

Harry's hands tightened their grip on my shirt and I came crashing back. Harry had just been unforgivably violated. Now was not the time to throw this at him. The last thing he needed was another bloke to start pawing at him.

I hugged him even tighter at that thought, then slipped my legs around into a more comfortable position. Our clothes were soaked, but the water was warm. The rest of the world seemed very far away. "You're not alone," I muttered into his hair. "I'm here."

iIiIiIi

That night, I made a lot of tea. I didn't try to make him talk, I just made sure he wasn't by himself. We finally fell asleep in the living room, him on the couch, me in the chair, just half an hour before the sun rose. When he jerked awake from a nightmare an hour later, I made more tea.

Seamus popped over in the afternoon. He didn't look like he'd slept much either. It was awkward because Harry didn't seem too keen on seeing him, but Seamus wasn't miffed one bit. He announced he and Harry needed to talk and shooed me away. Of course, I fell back and eavesdropped just a little.

"Harry, you need to know, that's _not_ what sex is. I don't want you thinkin' that's how it is, even one-night stands. What happened wasn't anything you wanted."

"Wasn't it?" Harry demanded in a hoarse voice. "I wanted to get someone's hands down my pants and look what happened. Just what I asked for. Finally got there." His voice cracked.

"Don't do that to yourself. What if it'd been me, eh? What if I'd gone out there lookin' to hook up with a guy and that had happened to me? Would you think it was my fault?"

"No," Harry said in a small voice.

"And I don't want you thinkin' of sex with blokes as dirty and dangerous while sex with girls is pure and simple. I've done both and it all depends on the person, not the gender. I know it's easy to start thinking that girls are all innocent while blokes only want sex, but…well you've see the girls Ron's brought home, right? Not exactly the parade of purity."

Well, that was just great. Thank you, Seamus.

But then, I heard Harry snort a little and I forgave him. Seamus could throw me under a dragon stampede if it made Harry feel better.

"Wanting to experience what all your friends have is normal and you need to understand that you _still_ _haven't_ experienced it. That wasn't sex. Sex is fun, sometimes awkward, sometimes messy, sometimes bloody earth shattering. It's exciting and it makes you feel good…"

I tiptoed down to my room and silently shut my door behind me. What Seamus had said got to me. Was sex all those things to me? It was exciting at first, and yeah, it felt good in a purely physical sense, but I didn't feel much emotion toward sex these days. I just brought girls home because, well, it felt better than wanking and I could brag about it if anyone asked. But I didn't feel anything toward any of the girls. I wanted to feel something during sex. Suddenly, I wanted it more than anything.

iIiIiIi

By day, you'd barely know anything bad had happened to Harry at all. In the days after that third date, when anyone asked him how he was doing, Harry would give them this look like he didn't know what they were talking about and was confused by their random anxiety. He'd say he was fine and change the subject instantly. In fact, he was upbeat. Joking around with people, acting like he hadn't a care in the world. Dean and Neville were confused by it at first but soon relaxed and let themselves believe Harry was doing okay. I think Seamus understood what was going on, but he played along for Harry's sake. Hermione was _not_ okay with it. It really scared her and I had to finally tell her to keep away for a week and let Harry have his mental breakdown without her bringing up therapists or trying to convince him to talk about things. I updated her by floo every night while Harry was in the shower.

Harry's behavior startled the bloody hell out of Lee and George, who stopped by after Hermione apparently started screaming in the Wheezes shop about Lee sending people on dates with sociopaths who would sell them to rapists. It apparently freaked out people in the shop, but I couldn't imagine they were more freaked out than Lee, who showed up gut-wrenched with guilt. George just looked ready for murder. But when Lee began apologizing and insisting he hadn't known, Harry shrugged and said in the most casual of voices, "Hey, can't expect them all to work out. I think I nearly bored him to tears. Oh George, Hagrid mentioned there's a good shop space needing a tenant in Hogsmeade. You should think about expanding there."

Harry was the perfect host, grabbing beers, asking questions, laughing, joking, so that by the time Lee and George were headed to the floo, they seemed to believe that Hermione had been disturbingly misinformed. That wasn't a fun misunderstanding to clear up by owl.

At night, everything was different. Harry would go to his room with a cheery, "Off to bed. Night!" Then, I'd wake hours later and find him in our living room, staring blankly at the telly, not really watching. He even looked different, like there were shadows around his eyes. Maybe it was from caffeine wearing off or from waking up from nightmares before he could get in a decent amount of sleep. And he didn't try to pretend he was fine at night. I don't think he had the strength to.

Night six was the same. My eyelids popped open 'round three in the morning. I saw the flickering glow from the crack under my bedroom door. Harry kept the volume so low I couldn't really hear it, but I still woke every night. Sixth sense, I guess. The best mate sense.

I got up, dragged my duvet with me and shuffled into our living room. Harry didn't look up until I was walking around the couch. His eyes were blank and emotionless. I sat down next to him and threw the duvet over us both.

"What're we watching?"

Harry blinked and looked at the telly as if only just realizing it was on. There was a lady on the screen using a knife to cut an aluminum can, then Muggle coins.

"You reckon we should get one of those in case we want to cut up our money?" I asked.

"No." Harry's voice was flat and hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in ages even though he'd been chatting merrily all day. "You keep slicing yourself with the dull ones we've got. You'd end up with no fingers."

"Guess that would make it hard to play Quidditch."

We watched the lady slice through a whole turkey with her super knife. She grinned brightly and said, "It even cuts through bone!" It made me think of bookshop psycho and my eyes jerked away from the screen.

Harry changed the channel. A celebrity gossip show. He changed it again. A cop drama with officers talking to a beat up girl who was crying in a hospital bed. Harry's thumb jammed against the channel button urgently. Another infomercial. He let the remote drop to his lap.

"We'll get through this, you know," I said. "We've gotten through awful stuff before and we'll do it this time too."

Harry stared expressionlessly at a sweeping shot of a coin collection. "Yeah, I'll get through this and move right on to the next nightmare I'll have to get through."

"Have you ever thought about," I hesitated, "dating someone you know? From Hogwarts? That might be good, right?"

He shook his head. "I'm not dating again. Ever. I'm done."

"Harry…"

"I'm serious. I _hate_ dating. I _hate_ it." His eyes welled up but he blinked it down. "Even if it was someone I knew and they didn't betray me in some way, I couldn't stand to have them touch me."

Merlin, it scared me to hear him talk like that. "You won't always feel that way."

"Yes I will. I can't think of any of it the same anymore. I don't want anyone to kiss me, I don't want anyone to touch me, I don't want anyone to even _look_ at me like that. How can you fix that? You can't."

"Do you not want me sitting this close to you?" I didn't know what to do. Harry was right about this time being different. I had never felt this lost. I began to push off the couch.

Harry's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His eyes were wide. "No. Please don't leave. You're the only thing keeping me sane right now."

I sat back down. "You're sane right now?"

He smiled a little. "Well, you're keeping me going, at least. You always do."

Right then, I knew I loved him. This wasn't just a curiosity thing. It wasn't even about sex. I was in love with him…right when he'd given up on dating forever. Great.

iIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIi

A/N: Please review!!


	4. The Fourth Date

The Fourth Date

A month went by, then two, then three. No sex for me. Don't get me wrong, I was no saint. I was certainly tempted on occasion to bring home a Cannons groupie. When you're horny as all hell, it can be really hard to refuse someone wriggling around in your lap and whispering in your ear how hot it is to watch your thighs grip a broomstick. But every time, I thought of Harry. Waiting for him was worth…well, waiting.

Problem was, I had no idea how long to wait. Harry was definitely getting better. The late nights of telly-watching tapered off. The manic hosting ended. He stopped tensing every time someone mentioned sex. He even started laughing at Seamus's jokes about sex again. But even though he was better, I wasn't sure Harry was actually ready for a guy to show interest. I thought he might be ready to at least consider it, but every time I told myself it was at least time to put my name in the cup, I chickened out. I could think of a million different ways that conversation would lead to the destruction of our entire friendship.

I did spend a lot more time with Harry. I turned down plenty a pub run with the team to have a drink with Harry and demolish him in chess. And the other lads made sure to drop by more often to hang out too, especially while I wasn't there. I think Seamus pushed for that one. He and Harry got closer after what had happened. Seamus was the one who made sure Harry didn't get warped ideas of what sex was like because of those sickos. I think he even specifically took blokes home that he knew would leave him with positive stories to pass on to Harry. It was a little uncomfortable to floo home after practice to find Seamus in the middle of some graphic story, but I knew it made Harry feel more relaxed around the subject, so it worked fine.

One time, I left them to finish Seamus's story about "springlers" that turned on while he was shagging some bloke in a Muggle park. I turned on the shower, then realized there were no clean towels and padded to my room to get some.

"…you think of Ron?" I heard Seamus say.

"Will you keep your bloody voice down?" Harry hissed. I tiptoed closer, breath held. "Ron's _straight_ and if he overhears you, you're going to freak him out."

"But would you shag 'im if you could?" Seamus asked eagerly.

"You already know the answer to that. Why? Would you shag Dean?"

"In a bloody second if we pretend the friendship's not a factor. Dean's an artsy soul, he'd be creative."

Harry sniggered. "What about Neville?"

"Absolutely. You'd need to invest the emotion, calm him, but he'd get into it and afterward, he'd cuddle."

Harry's sparkling laugh rang out. "And Ron?"

"Oh yeah. You know once he gets heated up, he's in it all the way. Enthusiasm and pure lust, what more do you need?"

I wasn't sure if that was exactly a compliment but it _was_ pretty accurate. I guessed Seamus's assessment could have been worse. But then it made me wonder what Harry was like in bed and I gulped at the unexpectedly vivid images that my mind threw at me for options.

"Is there anyone you _wouldn't _sleep with?" Harry chuckled.

There was a long pause. "Hermione. Love the girl, but she'd probably give me a study guide before and a grade after."

"Aw, Ron says the same. I'd sleep with Hermione."

"Liar."

"If I was interested in sleeping with girls, I'd want to! Yeah, she was a bit of a pain leading up to the exams, but she _did _ace them. And I'm sure she'd even have some unexpected extra credit points up her sleeve."

Reluctantly, I had to get back to the shower before they started wondering why I was taking so long. As I scrubbed off the sweat and grime, my mind tossed around what I'd heard. _You already know the answer to that_. Well, I didn't! Couldn't he have said, "You know the answer to that is yes?" That would have made things much easier on me. What would happen if _I _asked him whether he ever thought about shagging me? Maybe that was how I could broach the subject! But what if he said yes and I tried to snog him and he admitted he hadn't mean it, that it was just something you say to be nice, like with him volunteering to hypothetically sleep with Hermione.

New idea: what if I got out there quick before they finished and inserted myself into the hypothetical game of who we'd shag? Then, I could say no to the other blokes, but say yes to Harry and see how he reacted. If it didn't go well, I'd just play it off like he was my best mate and it was a loyalty thing or something.

I shut off the shower, with soap still dripping down my legs, but towel-dried it off with lightning speed. I tripped into my clothes and threw myself out into the hall, before making my trek to the living room look much more casual.

The living room was empty. Harry stood alone in the kitchen, stirring a pot.

"Seamus gone?" I asked, disappointed.

Harry looked 'round. "Yeah. Spaghetti fine for dinner?"

"'Course." I stepped into the room. "So, you two talk about anything interesting?"

Harry stilled. "Just the usual."

"Oh." Damn. "Sex?"

"Does Seamus talk about anything else?"

I fiddled with the damp towel I'd been rubbing through my hair. I wanted to say something, but how? _Can WE talk about sex? I overheard your conversation and had some follow up questions? 'Straight' is really such a subjective word, don't you think?_

Harry looked around at me again, then cocked his head to the side. "Isn't that what you wore to practice?'

I looked down at myself. "Uh…yeah. I…forgot a towel for the bathroom. Didn't want to streak back to my room. I'm gonna…yeah."

My shoulders slumped and I headed back to my room in defeat.

iIiIiIi

A week later, the Cannons managed a victory against the Montrose Magpies. The best part was that the credit was falling heavily on my keeping skills. As my teammates carried me on their shoulders toward the locker room, I saw my old classmates all sitting together in the VIP section. Dean had, as usual, made an artsy sign that said, "Weasley is our king!" and the rest of them waved flags and cheered my name. But it was Harry's eye that I caught. He beamed at me and cast me a thumbs up, then gestured eagerly at the sign and cheered. In that moment, I decided to tell him. I wanted to celebrate with _him_. I wanted everyone to leave so I could have my locker room fantasy with Harry. My adrenaline was pumping so hard, I was tempted to tell my teammates to carry me the other way so I could just jump Harry right there in the stands.

The team's bodyguards kept a tight reign on traffic into the locker room. Everyone washed up quickly to get out to their friends and fans. I ended up being the last one left because of a stubborn knot that had worked its way into my shin guard laces. I was just pulling my shoes on when I heard footsteps echoing.

It was Harry. Holy shit, my locker room fantasy was coming true.

His face was painted in orange and black, clashing terribly with his green eyes, but I didn't care. He looked gorgeous.

"Forty-three saves? You're going down in Cannons history, mate!"

My ears burned at the compliment. "Thanks."

"Seriously, you were amazing!" he gushed, straddling the bench next to me and gesturing with his hands. "You do realize that because of your wicked keeping, the Cannons just beat the most successful team in _history_. At this rate, you're going to win the League!"

"Hey!" I yelped. "Don't jinx it!"

"Sorry." He knocked twice on the wooden bench.

I looked at him quizzically.

"Muggle thing. Undoes the bad luck." He cleared his throat and trailed a finger along the lines in the wood. "Um, so, I was wondering…"

I couldn't breathe. Was this really happening?

"…I know you'll be celebrating tonight, but, um, could you maybe kip at Dean and Seamus's after? Or, you know, if you pick up someone, go to her place? If not, don't be afraid to say so. This is big victory and if you want to take someone home, I don't want to mess it up for you."

Well it sure sucked to plummet from fantasy to questioning what the hell was going on in my reality. "Why? You need a night alone?" My throat was tight. Why would Harry want to get rid of me?

"No, it's not that at all. It's just…" He floundered a bit. "You know how I can't date?"

I nodded nervously.

"Well, I decided that I don't want to wait forever to get past snogging, so Seamus agreed to come over and, um…get me past snogging."

"What?" I said faintly. "You and _Seamus_?"

He looked up at me wide-eyed. "No. It's not a couple thing. Not even a dating thing. You know Seamus, he's not the monogamous type, and he's a great bloke but I'm not interested in that kind of thing with him. He's just doing a huge favor for me. As a friend."

"You're going to sleep with Seamus just so you're not a virgin anymore?" Didn't he realize how stupid that was?

He shrugged. "I don't know I'm ready for _that_. He's just going to come over and we'll start with snogging and…see. I reckon I need to do this or I'm going to end up with some of the hang-ups Hermione's worried about me getting. And I'm finally thinking of it in a good way again and actually wanting…" He trailed off with a blush. "Well, anyway, this way it's someone I trust and I won't have to stress so much about being so far behind everyone." He smirked unsurely, finally looking up at me. "But I told him not to bring the whip. Didn't want him to think I was the _open_ sort."

Damn. I guessed a lecture about waiting for something special wouldn't hold much weight coming from me.

"So, is that…okay?"

NO! No it was NOT okay! Not for one bloody second! Seamus? _Seamus?_ A very unwelcome image of Harry moaning while Seamus massaged him through his trousers slammed through my mind. Then another of Seamus leaving afterward and Harry being in our apartment all alone suddenly wishing he had someone that would still be there with him in the morning.

But my head gave a jerky nod. I tried to swallow, but I couldn't.

"Okay. Thanks." He stood, playing with the hem of his Cannon's shirt. He offered me a crooked smile. "And have fun tonight. You deserve it." And he left.

I sat on the bench, staring at the concrete floor, my equipment bag at my feet.

My locker room fantasy was ruined.

iIiIiIi

None of my friends came to the celebration party afterward. The only one ever truly up for the debauchery involved in these things was Seamus, but _he_ apparently had other plans for the night. Plans that, fifteen miserable minutes into the party, I decided I had to stop. My teammates tried to keep me there, insisting I was the star and couldn't leave until I made a speech, sit through toasts, and lead the team in rounds of shots. When nothing else worked, I lied and said I was going off to get shagged and they let me go. They probably wouldn't have been so keen if they'd known I was actually off to _stop_ a shagging. To them, that was a crime against everything good in the world.

I stepped through the fireplace to Seamus and Dean's place. The transition from the unruly, packed room to the cozy quiet of the apartment was jarring. Dean and Neville were on the couch, watching a football match. They raised their beer bottles in greeting, and spouted off some praise, but couldn't tear their eyes from the screen.

"Seamus in?"

Neville finally looked up as Dean continued muttering instructions at the players, then getting angry when they didn't follow his sensible advice. "Kitchen. Said you might kip over. Are he and Harry going out together?"

That caught Dean's attention. His mouth was drawn into a frown. "No way. Harry wouldn't let Seamus chaperone another date alone. Seamus wouldn't even trust himself with it and we all know what a cocky bastard _he_ is."

"Cocky bastard? Did someone call me?" Seamus's sandy head popped in from the kitchen. He held a rag smeared with orange and black, the rest of the paint still stuck around the edges of his face. He grinned at Ron. "Don't tell me you ditched an exciting party filled with girls waiting to shag you just to sit with these sods and watch some pansy sport with only one ball."

"Don't insult football, you arse," Dean called.

"It's pretty addicting," Neville admitted. "It's nice to always know what's going on instead of trying to watch the Quaffle, Bludgers and Snitch all at once. You never miss any of the action in football."

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Just proves football's for the dunces if you ask me."

"We didn't," Dean shot back. "Now shut it before I start plotting to slip laxatives in your tea."

"Get in here, Ron. We'll get you set up with a drink while you explain to me why the hell you're not doing body-shots off of gorgeous women dying for the honor to give you head."

I swallowed nervously and followed him in. He opened up the liquor cabinet and turned back with a proud smirk as if showing off his most prized trophies. Mainly, it was a cabinet filled with cheap liquor. "What's your poison, then? Recommend a good Irish firewhisky myself, but I can pour you some of this other crap if you'd like."

"I need you to do something for me."

My tone must've been serious because Seamus eyed me warily. "Are we attacking someone with pokers again?" he joked, but he seemed unsure of how to gauge the situation.

"Don't go tonight."

Seamus raised an eyebrow. "Harry told you?"

I nodded abruptly and avoided his eye. "Yeah. Look, you know Harry. Do you really think he's going to come out of this without getting hurt? He wants a boyfriend, not a one night stand."

Apparently, this conversation meant Seamus needed a firewhisky. He turned to the cabinet and pulled out a bottle. "All due respect, mate, I think Harry can decide what he wants."

"Harry thinks he can't get what he wants." I sounded frustrated. Maybe I was. "He's only doing this because he thinks nobody wants him for anything more. You can't think it's a good idea to sleep with him and leave him cold."

Seamus looked distinctly unamused. He lowered his voice. "The last time Harry had a date, I had to watch his face fall when his date acted bored throughout. I had to watch him get the shit kicked out of him. I had to watch those bastards put their hands all over him and see his face when he realized what they were planning to do. Yeah, it would be best if we could find him a good boyfriend, but he's not ready to date again and knowin' what the risk is, there's no way I'm pushin' him back out there. It took a lot of nerve for him to ask me for this and if I can make sex fun for him after _that_, there's no way I'm backing out just because the situation's not perfect."

"But…"

Seamus cut me off. "Look, don't worry. Harry and I already talked about it. We'll sit together and talk and relax. Then we'll snog a little and see how far he wants to go. I'm not going to push him into anything. If you think I'd do that, I might have to hit you." He eyed me with something like disappointment. "I should get going."

He brushed past me and I panicked. I didn't want him snogging Harry and asking him how far he wanted to go! _I_ wanted to do that! I grabbed Seamus's arm and he stared at me incredulously.

"I don't want you to."

"What is wrong with you?" he demanded. "You're closer to Harry than any of us. You should know what this means to him."

"I want it to be me!" I growled. I reeled back. I hadn't been expecting to just blurt it out like that.

Seamus looked a bit bewildered. "You want me to show you gay sex? You want to experiment a bit?" He considered it. "Well, if Harry's okay with it. Him first, obviously, then we should probably wait awhile to make sure there's no weirdness…"

"No. I want to do that stuff with Harry," I admitted quietly.

"Ah. Yeah, that makes more sense, I guess." He let out a long breath of air. He grabbed his whisky and nodded for me to follow. We slipped into his room while Dean and Neville yelled at the telly. The door clicked shut and Seamus leaned against his nightstand. "Look, Ron, Harry could manage being casual with me and stayin' friends. It might be a little odd after, he might get a bit attached, but he'll be fine. But he won't be able to do that with you. You two are way too close. Even though it seems like a good idea because he wants someone he trusts to help him experience sex, Harry isn't the guy for you to experiment with. You should try out a few blokes first, make sure this isn't some whim, that way you won't realize halfway through making out with Harry that you're not attracted to men after all. That would kill him."

I started wishing I'd accepted that drink after all. "It's not like that. I've thought about this for a while."

"Are you sure?" Seamus pressed. "Those warm fuzzy feelings might just be poppin' up because you care about the lad and he's going through a tough time with dating. Or 'cause you're used to him being yours and now you're watchin' him want something different with other blokes…it's probably bloody confusing."

"I'm not confused!" I snapped. I ran my hands down my face. "I've considered all of that, okay? I want him. When we caught him on the couch and he looked so…and sometimes when we brush by each other in the kitchen I start thinking…and, Merlin, he was kneeling in front of me once and I can't stop imagining…"

"Okay, okay," Seamus laughed. "You're not exactly persuading me not to run over there, you know. You're gonna get me hard if you keep talking like you're about to start wanking."

I blushed spectacularly and crossed my arms. "I don't just want to experiment with him. That's why you can't go over there."

"Because you want to be…"

"More," I finished, uncomfortable.

"Alright," he conceded. "So you're going to go back right now and tell him all that?"

I blanched. "Uh." I scratched the back of my neck. "Well, tonight's not a good night. He was expecting you and I think it's better to start feeling him out and try to get him to think of me like that. Right now, he just thinks of me as a straight friend. This would catch him so off guard he's going to say no before he thinks about it. There's a lot at stake, you know. I just wanted to make sure you didn't do anything with him tonight when I'm planning to make my move soon."

Seamus shook his head. "No way," he said simply. "No way am I gonna let him think I ditched him tonight for no reason. He'll think he's being rejected, Ron. Again."

"Well, I'm not just going to throw this bludger at him!" I protested. "He needs time to adjust to the thought!"

"Harry is not going to feel rejected tonight, so you have a choice. Either I go over there as planned or you tell him how you feel about him."

I swallowed. "How about you go over there and not do anything with him and instead tell him that you think I might like him? Then you can plant the thought, you can tell me what he says and if he doesn't go for it, we can just play it like you were mistaken! That's a much better plan, I think."

"Balls up, Weasley. You're a Gryffindor," Seamus said simply. "You tell him or I'm going over there."

I hesitated. What if he didn't think of me like that? I couldn't help but imagine him explaining that he thought we should just be friends, then asking if I could go fetch Seamus for him. Worse, there was the possibility it would ruin everything between us. I cared about Harry more than anyone. I was closer to him than anyone. If things got awkward, if we couldn't sit together on our tiny couch anymore, if he couldn't sling his arm around me or pat me on the back or feel comfortable around me…well, I wouldn't be able to handle it. I really wouldn't.

Seamus knew just what to say. He stepped closer. "You tell him or I'm going over there and I'm going to kiss him and push him down onto the couch and climb on top of him. I'll make him make that little gasping sound we caught the tail end when we interrupted him last time. Then I'll touch his skin, right above the line of his trousers and I bet it'll make him moan…"

"Stop!" I barked ferociously. My hands had clenched into fists during his speech. "Don't. I will, okay? I'll do it."

Seamus grinned triumphantly. "Good." Then he frowned. "Fuck, I got myself all randy. You run off. I guess my date tonight's gonna be my right hand. Don't want to keep it waitin'."

I could have made some retort, but I was too frozen with fear to respond in any way except to stiffly nod and jerk toward the door.

"Oh, and Ron?"

I turned.

"If I find out tomorrow that you haven't told him and Harry thinks I stood him up, I'll skewer you with one of those fire pokers."

"Right, thanks," I muttered.

Seamus grinned. "You'll do great."

iIiIiIi

At the sound of the floo, Harry walked in, rubbing his palms against his trousers, looking terrifically nervous. He stopped when he saw me. "Uh…hey?" He eyed me with uncertainty. "Um, I guess I should have said earlier, I left some stuff for you at Dean's already. I figured you'd be out late. Did you come from the party?"

"No, I was just at Seamus and Dean's."

"Oh. Then why are you…here?"

Oh shit. How the hell was I going to do this?

I floundered for words for too long. Harry's face suddenly tightened. "Seamus isn't coming."

"Uh, no," I admitted, scratching the side of my eyebrow.

Harry wore a guarded expression. He looked away and nodded stiffly. "Did he say why?"

I licked my lips nervously. There really was no good way to put it, was there? "I, uh…"

"No, never mind," Harry interrupted. He still wouldn't look at me. "I won't put you in the middle." He swallowed. "He has a reason. He wouldn't…he has a reason."

He turned and walked into the kitchen. I followed, then paused in the doorway. My eyebrows rose into my hairline. There was a bottle of Irish firewhiskey on the counter, plus a bottle of Baileys. There were cookie sheets covered in at least three different kinds of cookie, a batch of cupcakes on a plate, two different cartons of ice cream, a bowl of crisps and a bunch of fruit that had been partially sliced on a cutting board. Harry pressed the lids onto the ice cream cartons and started pouring the crisps back into the bag.

"Er…"

Harry glanced up and looked embarrassed when he found me standing there. "I know, it's stupid. I just…I've never done this. I didn't know what was appropriate."

"I think he would've been fine with just the whisky. You didn't have to start a bakery."

Harry sighed. "Yeah. It was…it was stupid."

"It wasn't stupid," I said softly. "Seriously, I can't think of anything better on a date."

"Well, I guess it's yours now," he said distantly. "I'm going to bed."

He headed toward the door, but I didn't move. He slowed and reluctantly looked up at me. He gestured over my shoulder. "Can I get through?"

"I told Seamus not to come."

Harry stared at me, then blinked a few times, trying to understand. Then he took a step back and his mood shifted almost imperceptibly, but I could feel the danger. I was scared. But I didn't move. Mostly because I was frozen in terror, but I like to think of it as a courageous stand.

"You told him not to come," he repeated, just staring at me.

I gulped. "He wasn't right for you."

That was apparently the wrong way to go. Harry's eyes narrowed. "Who gave you the right to decide who's right or wrong for me?" he demanded, his voice growing louder. "We weren't planning the effing wedding, Ron! It was just a date! I can't believe you did this!"

"It wasn't just a date," I argued. I knew my face was going red, I could feel the telltale heat. It was a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "He was going to…and you were going to let him…"

"So what?" Harry cried, throwing his hands up into the air. "You have your casual trysts all the time! Seamus isn't some stranger; there'd be no attempted murder or pictures in the magazines! What is your problem?"

"This isn't how it should go! Not for you, anyway! You should have a boyfriend who takes you to the cinema and dinner and will stay the night after, not some one-night grope session that's going to leave you feeling even worse!"

"That's easy for _you_ to say, Ron," Harry yelled, eyes blazing with hurt. "You've had at least twenty one-night _whatevers_. The only people who've ever wanted to touch me were Craig, who wanted photos, and the men who paid to fuck the Boy Who Lived. You can't possibly understand what that feels like! I just want _one_ good memory of sex that doesn't make me feel like I need to scrub myself clean and you're acting like I'm doing something wrong! Seamus was doing me a huge favor and he's been so nice and has tried really hard to make me feel comfortable about this and then you go and just cancel it!"

I stared with wide, horrified eyes as Harry's chest heaved. I hadn't known he felt like that. Hermione had talked to me about how all this stuff was bound to affect Harry, and I'd known she was right, but somehow it was never real because Harry had seemed over it. It was real now.

I gulped. "Harry…"

He glared at me. "I'm trying really hard not to hit you right now, if that has any influence on what you want to say," he said in a low tone.

My voice came out in a near-whisper. "I want you."

For what seemed like an eternity, nothing moved and absolute silence filled the kitchen. All that existed in the world were Harry's eyes staring at me uncomprehendingly. "You…what?"

I closed my eyes. "I asked Seamus not to come because I didn't want you to be with him. I didn't have good judgment with Craig, I just didn't want you with him either. I don't want you with any guy…other than me." I opened my eyes. I quickly added, "Sorry."

Harry was clearly stunned. I just couldn't tell if it was in a good way or a bad way.

Then the panic set in. FUCK. Wasn't there some way I could have softened that blow? Couldn't I have said, "Well, you know, I thought we might give things a shot before you get involved with Seamus," or "When I saw you with Craig, it looked like fun, so Seamus and I drew straws and I won, but I could call him back if you'd like?" Instead I made it seem like I'd been creeping on him and sabotaging him for months. Way to bloody go, _self_!

"I…are you serious?"

My face grew hot. I looked at the floor and shrugged, not feeling like much of a Gryffindor. "Kind of," I muttered.

"Kind of?" Harry repeated in a strangled voice.

"Well, I mean, yes. If you want." I winced. "Look, I could go get Seamus and we can forget this ever happened."

"But…you're straight."

"Turns out not so much."

"You've had sex with scores of women!"

Hm, was it wrong I felt a little proud at that? I may have possibly puffed out my chest just a little. Then I remembered that the purpose of that point wasn't to compliment me on my sexual prowess. "Well, that's great and all, but it's just meaningless romps, really."

"So…is this…you want to have a romp with me?" Harry asked, his brow scrunching. "'Cause of…convenience or…curiosity?"

"No! I mean, I do want to do the sex stuff with you but I don't want it to _just_ be the sex stuff. That's why I thought maybe I should ask before Seamus came over for _just_ the sex stuff." I scratched my head. This wasn't coming out very charming. Not that I was ever charming, but I had my lines for the Cannons fans and they worked so I usually felt at least a little cool.

"So what _do_ you want?" Harry asked.

The hint of hopefulness in his voice was enough to give me a boost of confidence so I didn't just mutter "Never mind" and run off to my room. My voice came out less strong than I would have liked as I spoke. "Well, if you wanted, I thought I could be the person you come home with from the cinema. And it could be us that snogs against our door. And it could be us that stumbles off to one of our rooms. And when you visit me in the Cannons locker room, you could come and see me just…to see me. And possibly to do stuff in the showers. But that's optional." Damn it. That didn't sound good. I should have stopped with _his_ fantasy.

Harry ran his hands through his hair. He spoke slowly. "That all sounds…amazing, but I don't know, Ron. You've never even liked men and now you're just jumping into the deep end? What if you suddenly realize mid-snog that the whole thing freaks you out and that you're definitely straight after all? Or maybe it doesn't come at the beginning, but maybe down the line, suddenly you realize that I'm just me and you miss girl-bits and…"

I'd like to say it was my Gryffindor bravery that made me walk over to him just then, but mainly, I just wanted him to stop talking. I could have argued with him over it for hours but only one thing was really going to convince him and it seemed a whole lot more appealing than talking about our feelings.

So, I walked over to him. He was so busy trying to puzzle out what he was saying, that he actually didn't notice I'd moved until I was right in front of him. He jerked a little to find me so close and his speech faltered. Before he could say anything else, I put my hands on his shoulders and pressed my lips to his.

For a moment, we both froze there. Our lips were dry and the only thing exciting about the kiss was my mind flipping out, screaming that this was Harry, that I was kissing _Harry_ and possibly messing everything in my life up in spectacular fassion.

Then, Harry's bottom lip moved against mine and it was the most exciting, erotic things I've ever felt.

I pulled back and licked my lips, my tongue lingering where his lip had brushed. Harry's eyes were no longer anxious. I knew this look. I'd seen this look at Christmas of our first year when Harry realized he had presents. I'd seen it when I told him during our fifth year that he wasn't alone in his fight against evil. I saw it every time Hermione gave him a hug for comfort. It was his look for those moments in his life when he got something he'd desperately longed for but had never dared hoped to get and was scared would be snatched away the second he let his guard down. I didn't know if any of that was for me in particular, or if Harry just wanted _somebody_ to offer him this, but it didn't matter. The message was the same. I couldn't screw this up.

Harry's eyes drifted to my lips. His hand slid up the back of my neck into my hair as he pressed his mouth to mine, then his whole body to mine, into something much needier and more sexual. While the first kiss had been a silent promise that things would be okay, now I'd been heated up and just wanted him.

Our lips parted against each other's and I could feel his hot breath against my mouth. I shoved myself against him as our tongues brushed together and we stumbled until we bumped into a halt against the cabinets. My fingers moved up his shirt until they slid across skin, which made him gasp into my mouth, getting me even more frantic. I needed him so badly.

"Ron?"

I pulled back, hoping this was him putting on the brakes because he wasn't ready rather than him thinking it was a mistake.

He looked at me unsurely. "Is it…um…is it what you thought? I mean, are you sure about what you said before?"

"Yes." And I was. "It's better. It's...yes. I'm so sure."

Harry grinned. "This is the best thing that's happened to me since…ever. I can't believe it."

I kissed him again. Seamus was right in his guesses about me. Once I got fired up, I wasn't so good with the talking or thinking. Kissing was a strong suit of mine at those moments.

"Should we go to the bedroom?" Harry licked his lips, a nervous gesture. "We don't have to, you know, have…um…but I didn't think I'd get the chance to do this stuff in a bedroom."

The bedroom. "Good. Yes," I muttered. His eyes lit up with excitement. I kissed him hungrily and pulled him down the hall.

iIiIiIi

"Remember when I wouldn't say who the first guy I liked was," Harry mumbled sleepily.

My head flopped over to look at him in the moonlight. His eyes rested closed and his black hair shot out over the pillowcase crazily. I couldn't help but run my fingers over his bare collarbone. I'd just found out how much I loved that spot on him. I was rewarded with a contented hum.

"It was you. It's always been you. Just never thought this could ever happen."

I scooted myself closer to him and kissed his forehead clumsily. "It's always been you for me too. Just took me a lot longer to figure it out."

"Mm, well, you always were a bit of an idiot."

"True. Good thing you're not into me for my brains."

Harry smiled softly.

"Tomorrow, want to go to the cinema?"

There was no answer. He'd fallen asleep.

I closed my eyes and thought of the next day. Dinner, a film, back home for dessert and then I'd drag him straight into the bedroom. A date Harry would always remember with good feelings. Only good dates for him from now on. For both of us.

iIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIiIi

A/N: Stay tuned for the epilogue! And please feed my starving soul with reviews. Please sir, I want some more.


	5. Epilogue

Epilogue

(Four months later…)

My muscles were aching when I stepped through the floo into our flat. We'd had practice in high winds, making every maneuver with my broomstick a hundred times harder. Not to mention that complete nob Lisby had knocked me through one of the hoops when he hit the Quaffle with his beater's bat, but that was kind of embarrassing so I'd leave that detail out when I whined to Harry.

Speaking of which…I rolled my shoulders with a wince, dropped my gear to the floor and followed the sound of the wireless down the hall to Harry's old bedroom, which was now Harry's office.

I opened my mouth to start my campaign for sympathy (which would lead to him cooking and maybe a nice massage) but when I caught sight of him, I just leaned against the doorframe and watched him with a smile. Harry sat at his desk with his back to me, a pencil tucked behind his ear and another between his teeth while he flipped open a folder and dug through the contents. He looked like a proper journalist. I don't know why he even bothered to get dressed on the days he was simply finishing an article. He said it made him feel more normal, and I guess I could get that, but when you have a job that you can do in sweatpants, putting on a button up shirt seems like a crime. Though…his button up was kind of rumpled and the buttons at the top were undone and the sleeves were rolled up toward his elbows, which was kind of amazingly hot. Yes, dressing up for work at home was a brilliant idea. In fact, he should wear a tie…to help him feel professional and all.

I crept up behind him while he was absorbed in whatever notes he was taking, grabbed the back of his swivel chair and tipped it back. Harry jumped, startled, then tilted his head back to look up at me with a playful glare. He plucked the pencil from his mouth. "You're an evil git who's going to give me a heart attack one of these days, you know." He reached up and pulled my head down so our lips met in an upside-down kiss.

I hummed contentedly against his mouth. I knew that one day I'd probably take being able to kiss Harry for granted, but that day hadn't come yet. It was too easy to remember Craig draped over Harry on our couch, and every time I thought of it, I couldn't help but snog him harder. Because he was mine now when he almost wasn't. Hell, it was a miracle he was even _alive_ after the bookshop psycho.

My hand clenched his shirt at his shoulder before I calmed myself. He was here and I was allowed to touch him whenever I wanted. I was dead lucky.

I pulled back and walked around his chair so I could lean against his desk. A few papers shifted and I pushed them back onto the desk before they fell. "You know, I'm possibly developing a new fantasy."

Harry smiled brightly and waggled the pencil in his hand. The collar of his shirt was parted enough to see his collarbone. I liked that body part.

"Oh yeah?" he said. "Do I get to know what it is?"

"Something with you looking exactly like this. I haven't figured out the rest."

Harry smirked. "So basically me wearing my work clothes into the Cannon's locker room after a game?"

Oh. That sounded really good. "Yeah. That works. You could be doing an interview with me and then…" I waggled my eyebrows.

Harry laughed—a bright, twinkling sound that always caused this surge of feeling in my chest. His laugh had gotten a lot brighter since we'd got together. It was my greatest accomplishment. "I doubt they'd let me publish anything that came out of _that_ interview." He looked back to his desk. "Speaking of which, give me five minutes to get the rest of this article together and out and you'll have my full attention."

"What's it on?"

Harry was already turning back to his work. "Mm, ten Quidditch moves that are just for show. Got the Hogwarts teams to illustrate." He handed me the folder of pictures.

I smiled proudly as I flipped through. Writing for Quidditch Weekly had been my idea. A job having to do with something Harry loved where he didn't have to worry about being a risk to anyone. He'd been hesitant, arguing that with no background in writing or professional Quidditch, the only way he could get the job was to use his name. I'd told him that it was about time being the Chosen One did something good for him and that he _should_ do something with his name that would make him proud to be Harry Potter. So he did. And everyone wanted to read it, knowing who he was. But I made sure he remembered that he _did_ deserve this. That Harry Potter also meant the youngest seeker in a century. I made sure he pinned each of his articles on the corkboard I stuck on the office wall. And it worked. After getting past that first bit of unease about it, I think having his fame do something good for him finally was making him feel better about who he was. He was happy. That was all that mattered.

I frowned at the last picture. "Hey, I did the Pumperton Pop a few games ago."

"And it looked very impressive." Harry reached out and patted my thigh. "It would have been more practical to keep on your broom, but it served a good purpose. Spectacle inspires crowds and imitates opponents, which is all in here." He jabbed a finger at a piece of parchment covered with Harry's neatest handwriting, meaning it was the final draft of his article, the one he'd send in. "Which I am almost finished with." He tugged his file of pictures back from me.

He bent over his parchment and started writing again. I should have used the time to go take a shower, but I watched Harry write instead. A minute went by, the wireless station went to commercial. My foot began to bounce. He put his pencil down and picked up the parchment, eyeing it carefully from behind his glasses.

"You're done?" I asked eagerly.

"Proofreading," he muttered, eyes tracing the lines on the page.

"You have editors for that."

"Don't want them to think I'm an idiot."

"Not an idiot…just busy."

Harry wasn't even listening anymore. I walked up behind his chair and leaned over. My hands moved from his shoulders down along his chest.

Harry's breathing hitched. "Ron, just another couple minutes. You could take your shower while I finish."

"Or you could be finished now and you could take a shower _with _me." Which was just practical, really.

He tipped his head back and looked up at me. I delivered my most innocent grin, which worked because he tossed the article onto his desk and stood. I pulled him against me and kissed him, running my fingers inside his open collar, along his soft, smooth skin.

"Git," he muttered against my lips and tugged my shirt from my Quidditch trousers.

"Not a git. Just smart. Cinema tonight?"

Harry just snogged me and ran a hand up my stomach. I took that as a yes.

He broke away from my mouth and his eyes met mine. "You're the perfect boyfriend, you know."

And you know, I kind of was. For him, anyway. Nobody knew Harry like I did. Nobody could love him as much as I did. I might not have been the smartest or best looking bloke in the world, but ever since we were eleven, while everyone looked to Harry to protect them, I knew that he needed someone to protect _him_. I assigned myself the position—Harry Potter's protector. His second. His knight.

These days he was happy. Finally, truly happy. And, while that was a victory for Harry after what he'd been through, it was one for me too. It was proof that I'd done my job right. And if I got to be this happy right along with him, well, that was just icing on the chocolate frog.


End file.
